St Georges
by PryzmKess
Summary: Part One of the Grande Prix Series.  Complete AU where the crew of DZB are all Eventing competitors.  BV, GCc  Rated M for suggestive language and cursing
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I am back, and with the fiction that I'd promised so long ago. But, the single fiction has blossomed into three, and this is the first of a series I'm called The Grande Prix. Feel free to review. I don't mind, really. ;)

Disclaimers: I don't own any of this. Please don't sue. Complete AU - B/V, C/G

Also, I have taken a great deal of liberty in describing some aspects of Combined Eventing, mostly with the rules. If you are curious about any of the parts of Eventing, then feel free to check them out here: http://en. and here, at the US Eventing Association: All variations from the reality of the sport are my doing.

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Bulma bit back a grimace as the truck swayed into another rut and reminded herself that Chichi was her friend. Next to her, the focus of her grim thoughts was beaming happily at the map in her hands. "We should hit the main road at any time," she chirped, leaning forward so that she could see a bit further.

"We wouldn't be looking for the main road if we had stayed on it," Bulma said before she could stop herself. She did manage to twist the tone to something less irritable and gave Chichi a tight smile to lessen the tone of her voice even more.

"There!" Chichi exclaimed, pointing triumphantly ahead. Bulma peered forward; sure enough, there was the wide black strip of macadam that they were looking for; they could get off this gravel hell-pit. She kept the speed down, despite her eagerness to floor it and get off this dirt strip. She glanced in her rear-view mirror, anxiously eyeing the trailer behind them.

"I'm sure Red's fine," Chichi said as if she had read Bulma's thoughts, glancing back at the trailer herself. "He's next to Priss, and she's always a calming influence."

"Yeah, but I had the road to our barn paved for a reason," Bulma sighed, "and Red is that reason."

"Do you want to stop and check?" Chichi offered generously, though like Bulma, she was eager to get there.

Bulma shook her head and said, "No, if we stop, he'll want out, and then he'll be more upset if we start again. Besides, we're almost there, right?"

"Yeah!" Chichi said, picking up the map from her lap and studying it. "When you hit the blacktop, turn left, and it's only a couple of miles." She peered off to the left and declared, "Probably just beyond that hill there."

Bulma didn't glance; she was too busy worrying about the turn. She looked both ways at the stop, and then began her wide turn. She was now regretting the fact she didn't hire someone to drive them, but Chichi couldn't afford to pay half of a trailering fee, and Chichi probably would have bowed out rather than accept any more money from Bulma.

She finally got the truck and the trailer on the road without getting stuck or ending up in the ditch. With a happy sigh, she drove on.

Chichi was right; St. Georges was just over the crest of the hill. "Look at it!" Chichi squealed, her eyes wide. "I've never seen such a large facility."

"St. Georges is the second-best course, and the St. Georges cup is the second-best award in the field," Bulma muttered, trying to keep her mind on the road and not on the course or the upcoming event.

This was the first year that everything had gone well enough for her to hit the four-star trails. And it was all due to Flawless. She smiled as she thought of the bay stallion in the trailer behind her. He was a true competitor, and she wouldn't be here without his skill and athleticism. Of course, Red would be almost as good someday, but he would probably have his best run next year or the year after, given some more time, training and maturity. This would be a good training event for him – Bulma didn't really think that he'd do well enough for qualifiers, but he could. Then she could have two horses at The Grande Prix.

Another turn, but this was easier, as it was the main competitor's entrance and was wide enough to allow even an eighteen wheeler to turn easily. She eased up to the line of trucks and trailers waiting for stall assignments and let her shoulders relax a touch. A glance in her side-view mirror brought all the tension back.

A black tractor trailer was coming up behind them, and coming fast. As she watched, it suddenly jerked as if the driver had quickly put on the brakes, but it was already awfully close. _If they hit my horses_, she thought helplessly, watching in horror.

The rig stopped, and Bulma let her breath rush out of her. It was so close behind her that she couldn't see the grill anymore; all that was in her vision was a headlight as big as her head. "Is that as close as I think it is?" Chichi asked, peering into her mirror.

"Closer," Bulma whispered, then realized with a start that the truck in front of her had moved up. She eased her truck into motion with sweat-slick palms and a pounding heart. They had almost hit her. Red was the last horse in the trailer, closest to the rear; he could have been killed or injured. Anger replaced fear and she made a mental note to give the driver a piece of her mind.

It took all of Vegeta's self-control not to scream at his brother. Kakkarot had insisted on driving the last leg, and then had almost rear-ended another competitor. Finally, he settled on stating, "When Father said to kill the competition, he didn't mean with the truck, Kakkarot."

"I know," Kakkarot said quietly – the near-accident had shaken him up. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not the one you almost hit," Vegeta said mildly, unable to stay angry at Kakkarot when he was so contrite. But even his mild tone was a gravelly scrape of disapproval, and Kakkarot ducked his head as he eased the rig forward behind the blue truck and matching trailer. From their angle, they couldn't see if there was a stable logo on the side, but Vegeta was willing to bet that there was one, if they were bothering to match colors like that.

They pulled up to the stable assignments booth, and Kakkarot put the truck in neutral as Vegeta hopped down and got the assignments. He gave them a cursory glance, and then did a double take. "Stable A, 12-15 and Stable C, 5-19?" he growled at the officials.

"Sorry sir, we had to split your group up," one of the officials nodded at him. "There are a lot of you, and this was the best way to fill multiple requests."

"Do you realize how difficult you're making things for Saiyan Stables competitors?" he hissed at the man, crossing his arms and leaning forward in an imposing manner.

"I'm sorry sir," the official said again. "If you'd like to switch, you'll have to find someone willing to trade. Otherwise, what you have in your hand is what you have."

With a growl, Vegeta stomped out to the truck, swinging up into the seat. "What's wrong?" Kakkarot asked.

"The fools split us up," Vegeta snarled as he snatched up the walkie-talkie/phone. With a terse voice, he began to call their riders and grooms and tell them their assignments. But he broke off his call when they reached Stable A and he saw that the only spot left was next to the blue truck and trailer. "Looks like you'll get a chance to apologize after all, brother," he growled humorously before he continued his assignments.

Bulma hopped out of the truck almost before she had the parking brake on. She dashed to the back to find that Chichi already had the door open, and the two women lowered the ramp together.

Bulma stepped up quickly to the first horse, a vibrant chestnut gelding who was shaking badly. "Easy, Red," she murmured to him, pulling the slip knot loose so that the reddish-gold horse could ease out of the trailer. He took a half-step back, then opted to take the big step off the side of the ramp rather than go down it. Bulma gave him enough lead to let him get away from the trailer before she pulled him back to her side. "Hey, baby, the hard part is over," she whispered comfortingly as she rubbed the heart-shaped star on his forehead.

Hooves clattered on the ramp behind her, and Bulma lead Red a few more paces away to give Priss and Chichi room to move. Precision Timing stepped out of the trailer with no fuss, and calmly glanced around at the bustle of St. Georges. As if to show how much the bustle didn't bother her, the warmblood mare shook her white-spotted brown coat and yawned.

Red was still shaky, so Bulma told Chichi to put Priss in the barn while she watched the trailer and walked Red around in small circles. Bulma didn't really think that any of the other competitors would steal anything from them, but there were dozens of people milling about, and she had no idea who was a competitor and who wasn't.

A gravelly roar caught her attention, and she spun to stare at the black trailer-truck that pulled in next to her. Anger flared in her as she recognized the truck, and then flared hotter when she saw the stable emblem on the side. With a snarl twisting her face, she stomped toward them. It was only the tug on the rope from Red that could have stopped her, and she turned back to the gelding, his needs greater than her anger.

"Hey, guess what?" Chichi said as she bounded back to Bulma's side. "I'm part of Briefs Stables!"

"What?" Bulma frowned at her friend, still comforting Red.

"They have little removable name tags on the doors," Chichi giggled, "with the stables listed underneath. Priss and Storm are both listed as horses from Briefs Stables."

"What?" Bulma groaned. "The boneheads must have screwed the registrations up when we sent them in. I'm sorry! We can get that cleared after we get the horses put away--"

Chichi waved her hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it – I don't mind people thinking I'm with you! Besides, we have other, more important things to worry about – like putting a certain red-head in his stall."

Bulma laughed and grudgingly conceded the point. She could scream at the officials later; besides, she added to herself grimly as she glanced at the black eighteen-wheeler that was disgorging people and uniform black horses, she could use a warm-up, and Saiyan Stables deserved to be her first focus.

In the stables themselves, Bulma had to admit they were nice. The aisle between the stalls was clean and well-swept, and the barn had the fresh-scrubbed feel that said someone had at least applied soap and water to it. She stopped to look Priss over; the spotted mare was already urinating in her preferred back corner. Bulma glanced up at Red. "See that?" she inquired with false sweetness. "That's how you're supposed to travel – quiet getting in, and then so calm that you don't have any trouble making yourself at home."

"Are you translating for them, or just talking to yourself?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Are you translating for them, or just talking to yourself?" a voice growled behind Red. Bulma turned to look past her gelding, frowning when she saw the man who had addressed her. He was not much taller than her, wearing riding breeches and a black polo shirt. He had a black horse on the lead, and Bulma noted he was at least intelligent enough to keep his horse outside of Red's kicking range.

"Sorry," she grunted and moved Red down the aisle to his stall, leading him in cautiously. She liked Red, but when he was a racehorse, he had seriously injured a groom by pinning him against the door. It wasn't his fault – he got nervous in strange places, and when he got nervous, he spooked.

The man with the black horse walked past, and Bulma glanced after him, assessing the lines of his horse. It was the back of the man that caught her attention though; his polo shirt had the Saiyan Stables emblem on it. "Cocksucker," she muttered at his back, and then turned to Red. Without any more distractions, she was able to strip the shipping blanket and boots from him without a fuss, and was back out at the trailer in less than five minutes. She did pause long enough to note that Chichi had been right about the stable tags.

Chichi had already unloaded Storm; the dark brown horse danced on his lead, but Bulma could tell he was just working off pent-up energy from being coped up so long. Chichi lead him off, and Bulma went to the trailer to look up at Flawless. Which he was, she thought looking at him smugly; as always, the dark bay stallion looked awesome. He was her ticket to the Grande Prix. She'd not yet found a better horse - not for sale, anyway.

The sound of a door being slammed caught her attention, and she glanced toward the Saiyan Stables vehicle. The young man who had smarted off to her in the barn was climbing down from the driver's side of the cab. With a growl, Bulma stormed up to him.

"Hey, you!" she snapped. "I want to have a word with you! Did you know that you're an insufferable lout as well as a danger on the roads?"

He spun to face her as he dropped off the steps of the cab. "Go screech at someone else, witch," he growled. "Some of us have stables to run."

"You may think you're some big-shot," Bulma snarled, stepping into his personal space and thrusting her face forward, "but nobody here cares that you're Saiyan Stables – all that matters is who's higher on the boards at the end!"

"Yes," he cut back smoothly, "that is all that matters. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

Bulma scowled harder before whirling to stomp away from him. As she stalked away, he threw out a parting shot, "And I can guarantee that you have given head more than I have."

She spun back, her mouth falling open, her face turning red. "Well," she scrambled for a response, "one can easily see how I could be mistaken."

He merely cocked his eyebrow at her before striding away from her. She bit her lip, fighting to keep from going after him. What good would it do? The man was obviously an ass with no redeeming qualities.

Chichi's ringing laugh cut across the open parking area, and Bulma turned to see her friend walking out of the stables talking with someone. The man was tall, neck-cracking tall, with a happy, open face and crazy hair that stuck out from under a baseball cap. Chichi was smiling at him, making deep eye contact, and Bulma rolled her eyes when she realized that her friend was flirting. "We're here to compete, not find boys!" she hissed softly, crossing her arms and tapping her foot. Chichi looked up and saw her, but instead of steering clear from the obviously angry woman, Chichi grabbed the guy and dragged him over.

"Bulma," Chichi enthused, "meet Goku. Goku, meet Bulma."

"Hi!" the man said, waving his hand at her and smiling a huge smile. "Nice to meet you."

"Yeah, you too," Bulma said, trying to mask her irritation. "Chichi, could you watch the truck for a moment? I still need to unload Flawless."

"Sure!" Chichi said, but she was turning to Goku. "Can you keep me company for a moment?"

"Uh, I don't know," the guy said, fiddling with his hat. "I really should be helping unload." His statement was accompanied with a guilty look at the Saiyan semi truck.

_Figures that Chichi would find a Saiyan to flirt with_, Bulma thought irritably. "Look, Chi, I don't need you to hover over the truck. Just keep an eye on it, ok?" Without waiting for an answer, she stomped away.

She didn't need to look at her friend to know that Chichi was hurt – she could almost feel it. She almost turned back, but really, Flawless did need to be unloaded and Bulma knew she needed some time to calm down.

As always, Flawless helped soothe her. When she stepped into the trailer and undid his lead, he gently nuzzled her arm, his warm breath blowing over her skin. Without thought, Bulma slid her arms around the stallion's neck and leaned her cheek against his neck, basking in his presence. He held still while she soaked up calm and comfort from him.

"Are you mad because I'm getting over Yamcha first?" Chichi was standing at the bottom of the ramp, her arms crossed. "I wouldn't think so, but I can't think of why else you would be angry at me."

Bulma sighed and stepped away from Flawless, running her hands over his unmarked face. "Chichi, the only reason I'm getting mad is because we're here to compete, not scout for dates."

"I didn't go looking for him, Bulma," Chichi said quietly. "I just turned around and I saw him. I don't think I deserve your anger."

Bulma realized that she was fiddling with Flawless's lead and made herself stop before she gave her horse a neurotic twitch. "Chichi," Bulma finally said, "maybe deep down, so far down I don't realize it, I'm jealous that you've moved on. But really, the only thing I'm concerned about is getting the truck unloaded. So how about let's work on that, and you can tell me about this guy after that?"

"Ok," Chichi agreed, breaking into a beaming smile. Bulma watched her with something akin to envy, realizing with irritation that she _was_ annoyed that Chichi was moving on. It really was wonderful that Chichi was moving past Yamcha, but when would she?

Reminded of him, Bulma couldn't help but remember how he had taken her for a ride with sweet words and subtle manipulations. But he had done the same to Chichi, and was probably doing the same thing to some other woman right now. With an irritated snort, Bulma thrust him from her mind and focused on Flawless. As always, he unloaded quietly and settled into his stall nicely, waiting peacefully while Bulma removed his traveling blankets. On the way back out to the truck, she checked on Red, and was relieved to see that he had drank some water. That was a good sign that he was settling in after the trip.

"Chichi," Bulma said as she met her friend at the truck, "everyone's settling."

Chichi grinned knowingly; by long association, she knew Bulma's horses as well as Bulma did, just as Bulma knew Chichi's. "Red's eating and drinking?"

"Just drinking," Bulma said, "but he'll be eating soon." Together, the women began to unload the truck. Taking turns and using the dolly, it was quickly done. Bulma breathed a sigh of relief when she locked the small tackroom they had been given.

"Now what?" Chichi said, clapping her hands against her jeans to get the worst of the dirt off of them. "We have two hours until dinner tonight."

"Well," Bulma said coyly, "this is our first time at St. Georges'."

"So?" Chichi asked.

"We have to hit the giftshop," Bulma laughed.

"Uh, Bulma," Chichi said unhappily, flushing slightly, "I spent most of my money to get here."

Bulma threw her arms around her friend and said, "Well, then you're just going to have to let me get you something to commemorate this event. No, no arguments!" She cut Chichi off with an upraised finger. "I want to get you something, cause there will never be another first time at St. Georges, Chichi. This is the only time it will be new."

Chichi looked at her with a wry side-long glance. "You know, I don't think being here will ever be old hat."

"But darling!" Bulma said, throwing her arm over Chichi's shoulders and dragging her along. "We're so cosmopolitan; we'll soon be bored with this rustic little spot." Laughing, Chichi allowed herself to be drawn to the gift shop.


	3. Chapter 3

Vegeta personally checked all the tack room doors, making sure that they were locked. Next, he walked the length of the Saiyan Stables stalls, checking on each horse as he went. It was his father's lifework, and would someday be Vegeta's. So that is why when everyone else, including his brother, strolled off or hung around relaxing, Vegeta was walking the dressage arena, following the pattern that his horse would follow, checking the depth and texture of the sand. Then he walked the eventing course, picking out the best path for both of his horses. And just before he had to get ready for the dinner, he walked the jumping course, again starting to plan the best way to take the course on each horse.

The dinner was traditional for the night before competition began, but Vegeta found it to be the biggest waste of time. And of course it was formal, so that meant dragging a tuxedo along and spending all the extra time preparing for the dinner. At least the food was good, which was only a minor compensation.

Slouched at his table, Vegeta studied the other competitors, trying to assess which seemed most on top of their game at this moment. Of course, he would have a much better idea of that tomorrow after the dressage trial, but it at least gave him something to do in the meantime.

"Hey, Vegeta, I see someone I want to talk to," Kakkarot said, breaking Vegeta's revere. Interacting with people outside of Saiyan Stables was so out-of-character for his brother that Vegeta broke off his musings to watch his brother work his way across the room. He saw Kakkarot lean over a table, talking to someone who was blocked by another table of people. Vegeta was content to not know who his brother was talking to, but when Kakkarot sat down with them, his curiosity got the better of him. With a stretch designed to seem casual, Vegeta pushed himself into an upright position.

His idiot brother was sharing a table with that blue-haired bitch whose horses were next to his in Stable A. He rolled his eyes, praying that this wasn't what it looked like. Knowing that his brother needed his protection, Vegeta ambled over to the table.

"-and then he said, 'I'll cut $3000 off the price if you'll give me a blow job,'" the blue-head was cackling.

"No, he didn't!" Kakkarot laughed, his eyes round.

"No, really!" the other woman at the table giggled. "There are still men like that in the industry."

"So I told him, 'I'll make you a counter-offer. I'll add $5000 to the price if YOU blow the colt before I buy him,'" the blue-head snickered.

"Did he?" Kakkarot asked, disbelief clear in his voice.

"No, and it was just as well," the woman replied with a laugh, "because I found the perfect horse at the next farm."

"At least that charming story explains why you have fellatio on the brains so much," Vegeta butted in with a smirk. His smirk widened when he saw his presence remove the pleasure from the blue-haired woman's face.

"Vegeta!" Kakkarot yelped, standing up. "That was rude, even for you."

"She started it," he replied calmly, nodding at the blue-haired woman.

"I did not!" the wench hissed, jumping to her feet. "It was your truck that almost hit ours!"

"Guys, you are yelling and people are staring," the black-haired woman injected quietly, with a tight smile.

Vegeta didn't care, but the blue-haired woman sat down, and so did Kakkarot. With another smirk, Vegeta dropped into the chair between his brother and the blue-head. "So, who do I have the pleasure of meeting?" he asked snidely.

The blue-haired woman scowled at him, but Kakkarot hurriedly answered, "This is Chichi and Bulma. They're in the stalls next to ours."

"In Stable A, I know," Vegeta answered. "Why are you talking to them again?"

Bulma snapped, "Maybe the company at your table was aggravating." Both men ignored her.

"I wanted to talk to them," Kakkarot said softly.

"You know what Father will say," Vegeta warned quietly.

Kakkarot shrugged. "I'm just talking to some people."

"Ok," Vegeta said and stood up. "Just wanting to see what you were up to." With that he walked away, but he couldn't help but worry about his brother. _I hope you know what you're doing, Kakkarot._

"So, what will your father say?" Bulma asked after she was sure Vegeta was out of earshot.

Goku shrugged and said, "He thinks that socializing with the other competitors makes you weak."

"You're serious?" Bulma said, taking a sip of her wine.

Goku nodded. "Father is very competitive."

"You know, there are other words for that," Bulma said with a smirk.

"Bulma," Chichi said chidingly.

"No, it's ok," Goku said with a smile. "My father is a bastard. But he gets things done."

"And Vegeta is a bastard-in-training," Bulma remarked flippantly.

"Father puts a lot of pressure on him," Goku said, then grinned and said, "So what was this perfect horse that you found at the next farm, Bulma?"

Even though Bulma was immediately caught up in talking about Flawless, she noted the sudden change of topic. And now, unfortunately, she was curious about the Saiyans. _Of course_, she noted to herself wryly, _it wouldn't be the first time I've become interested in something unhealthy._

After dinner, Chichi and Goku took a walk together. They were both painfully aware that after tonight, they would be thrown into the chaos of competing, and there would be little time to linger together. And while Saiyan Stables wasn't all that far from where Chichi lived, both were wondering if the other would care to pursue the relationship later. So they luxuriated in it now.

"Your friend Bulma is pretty outspoken," Goku said softly. "Is she always like that?"

"Oh, yeah," Chichi laughed, "that's 100 Bulma. She can be grating, but you know she's never lying to you."

"You seem so quiet," Goku said. "How did you meet her?"

Chichi averted her eyes, trying not to show how much the topic bothered her. "Well, we were dating the same guy," she said quietly, "though only he knew that. One day, I get a knock on my front door, and there's this crazy-eyed blue-haired woman ranting about Yamcha. I didn't believe her; I didn't want to believe her."

"What happened?" Goku asked softly.

Chichi sighed and tilled her head back to look at the stars. "I threw her out of my apartment," she admitted. "I mean, I thought she was one of his crazy ex's – he was always talking about how insane all of his ex-girlfriends had been. But after that, she slipped a note through my mail slot begging me to meet her just one time. It was a night when Yamcha said he would be working. I thought she wanted to meet me; I went, only to find Yamcha with her."

"Ouch," Goku said softly.

"Yeah," Chichi agreed with a laugh. "It hurt a lot at the time, but it's funny now – I screamed and called him the worst names! He was so embarrassed, and then Bulma started in on him. By the time she was done, even the maître d' was embarrassed. It was no less than he deserved, though. Yamcha, I mean – not the maître d'."

"Wow, you guys are so bold," Goku said wistfully. "I wish I were like that. I don't think that I could stand in some fancy restaurant and shout at someone."

Chichi smiled. "Well, your instincts can take over, and you're just so hurt you go with the flow," she admitted. "I was so mad that I said whatever came to mind. But Bulma was even better."

"How?" Goku asked, curious.

"She didn't scream at him, she just called him names and told everyone in the restaurant how bad he was in bed," Chichi smirked. "That was when I learned that people hate being laughed at more than they hate being screamed at. She just tore him apart; you could see it in his eyes when someone else in the restaurant started to snicker. And I was so in awe of her I asked her how she did that. She invited me to have coffee with her, and that was the beginning, or depending on whom you ask, the end of everyone else's sanity."

Goku smiled. "So did you go into eventing together?"

"Well, when we were talking over coffee, she mentioned that she trained eventers," Chichi answered, "and at the time, I had just gotten back into the sport; I had done it some in high school and college, and then put it aside to focus on my studies. She insisted on teaching me; she said it was the least she could do for another 'Yamcha-survivor.' But enough about me; how did you get here?"

"Well, Saiyan Stables is part of some great heritage," Goku said, his voice reluctant. "I mean for as long as anyone can remember, Saiyan Stables has been breeding top-quality sports horses. Zeus, Lord Strike, and now Warlander; every generation of Saiyan Stables has had a 'great one.' But could we talk about something besides horses?"

Chichi studied his face for a moment, noticed the tension in his face as he asked her that question. _Something is very wrong here_, she thought, even as she nodded and said, "Sure, no problem. No horses. Seen any good movies recently?"


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: It occurred to me that my reader might not know many horse terms. So allow me to provide some helpful links. Sadly, FF won't let me provide those links. So if you'd like pointed in the right direction, just drop me a line and I'll be happy to help.

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Bulma walked toward the barns, determined to do one more check on the horses before she went to sleep. Not that she expected to sleep much, but if she made the effort, she would wear herself out enough to get some rest. _At least the nights are warm here_, she thought thankfully as she glanced ruefully down at her dress. It was perhaps a bit more clubbish than formal, but the black dress packed well, didn't wrinkle and was comfortable. _And_, she thought with a grin, _the short skirt shows off my legs really well._

As she got close to the barn, she heard a horse whinnying. The sound stood the hairs on her arms on end, and she began to run. Horses didn't make that noise unless something was wrong. As she sprinted closer, running awkwardly in her dress shoes, she heard a banging noise that sounded like a hooves kicking a wall.

She dashed into the barn aisle, keeping her hand up over her eyes to shield her eyes from the bright overhead lights. She followed the noise, only slightly relieved when she realized none her or Chichi's horses were making that sound. In the barn, the screaming whinnies and pounding mixed with thrashing and grunting noises, and with a sinking feeling in her gut, Bulma knew what was wrong – a horse had cast itself.

Casting is when a horse rolls over in a stall and traps itself against the wall, upside down with their feet against the wall so that they can't get up. Horses caught this way will thrash about and try to get up, and can injure themselves in the process. Worse, the horse will eventually die, if it can't get to its feet; the weight of its own body on the heart and lungs can cause suffocation and heart failure.

The sounds led her to a stall, and Bulma pulled open the door and assessed the situation, peering into the dark stall. The black horse was trapped against the back wall on his left side, his legs curled up into the air above him. As Bulma watched, the horse twisted and thrashed again, and she jumped forward, her only thought to help the animal.

To stop the thrashing, she grabbed the horse's head and pulled it up; she was hopeful that if she could get his front body high enough, he could get his forelegs under him. But the horse was at least 16 hands tall, an athlete in the prime of his life, and had more than a thousand pounds weight advantage on her. He tossed his head wildly, throwing her toward the wall and his thrashing feet; his head twisted in her grip, but she kept hold of it, going to one knee to do so.

"Help me!" Bulma yelled as loudly as she could. "Is anyone out there? I have a cast horse and need help!" She got back on her feet and yanked the horse's head back and up; if she could get leverage on him, she might be able to shift enough of him away from the wall. "Where is everyone?" she hissed as her hair fell out of its bun, knocked loose by all the movement.

"Master!" a voice graveled from the door as the horse writhed again.

"Don't stare; help!" Bulma yelped as her feet slid in her shoes, pulling Bulma close to his hooves again. _What am I doing?_, she thought as the reality hit her. She was in a strange horse's stall, she had no idea of what its personality was like, and she wasn't wearing boots or pants. If the horse stepped on her or kicked her, she could be badly injured.

A man moved next to her, wrapping his arms around the horse's neck and helping Bulma hold it. "We need to get him away from the wall," her assisting stranger said. The material of his coveralls pressed against Bulma's bare shoulder as the horse's thrashing threw the man into her.

"I know that!" Bulma snapped. "Look, if you hold his head, I can get his tail and pull it to move him off the wall."

"Break my horse's tail and you'll be sorry," the man growled.

His voice was familiar; Bulma glanced at him, but his face was back-lit. She sniped, "Maybe you'd rather I not help him?"

"We just need to roll him," the man insisted.

"Are you going to scramble under his hooves to give him the old heave-ho?" Bulma growled.

"No, you're going to hold his head while I get to his rump, and then you're going to twist his head away from the wall while I turn his backside over. Then he'll have plenty of room to gain his feet," the man rejoined.

Bulma shook her head. "That's nuts!" she exclaimed. "You'll be kicked for sure."

"Do you have a better idea?" the man asked.

"Yeah, I do," she said after a second. "Do you think that you could get a hand under his foreleg? If you could, we could both pull on his front half, and get that out into the center of the stall. Plus, then we're fighting together against only one half of the horse."

"Fine," the man growled. "Let's stop arguing and get him up." He released the horse's neck carefully, and Bulma braced against the horse's next heave. It came as the man slid his hand under the horse's leg and slid his other hand under the neck for an additional grip; Bulma noticed with apprehension that the horse's bucking was lessening, which was a very bad sign.

"Ready," the man said, and then barked, "Pull together, now!" Bulma hauled on the horse's head, saying a silent apology to the poor animal; she saw her assistant strain into the pull as well. For one second, nothing happened, but then the horse's shoulder slid an inch, and then another and another until his fore body was out from the wall.

"Roll him up," the man panted breathlessly as he slid his hands under the horse's other shoulder and pushed to get his feet under his body. Bulma released the horse's head and pushed on it and the neck to encourage the horse to come up off his shoulder. It worked, and when the horse realized his hooves were under him, he heaved himself to his feet and staggered away from the wall.

Bulma groaned with pity as she saw the horse's downed side; it was covered with straw and scrapes and bruising. But her consideration of the horse was cut short when her co-savior grabbed her by the arm and spun her out of the stall. As she caught her balance in the aisle, she heard the stall door slide shut. Startled, Bulma spun to meet Vegeta Saiyan's angry stare as he snarled, "What the hell did you think you were doing?"

Bright-hot anger burned away her surprise, and Bulma clenched her fists as she snapped, "Saving your horse, apparently! Of course, why should I expect gratitude from the likes of you?"

"I meant, what is with the outfit? Where are your boots? If Master had stepped on your foot, you would have lost toes!" he nearly howled.

"I decided to save your horse rather than change clothes," she growled back.

"Safety first!" Vegeta growled. "You shouldn't even have been in the barn without boots."

"I was just check up on my horses, when I heard yours was cast," Bulma sniffed. "I could have stopped to play dress up, but I weighed your horse's life as more important. What's his name, Master?"

Vegeta blinked, startled by the sudden change in topic. "Warland Master," he answered automatically. He glanced down at her and added, "You're filthy, and you've probably ruined your shoes."

Bulma shrugged, not bothering to look down as she replied, "They were pretty cheap, so I don't mind ruining them. And I clean up, contrary to popular opinion. I didn't tell you this earlier, but your horse has great confirmation. I assume from his name that Warlander is his sire?"

"Uh, yes, he is," Vegeta replied, suddenly uncertain. Somewhere along the way, she had derailed his rant, and he wasn't sure how to get it back. "Aren't you—"

"He's bleeding. You should check that," Bulma said, moving back to the stall door and eyeing Master with a critical eye. "Do you want me to hold his head?" She added with a roguish grin, "I'll even go get my boots." Vegeta nodded before remembering that he didn't let personnel from outside his stables handle his horses. "Great, I'll right back."

He watched her scamper off as he wondered what had just happened. She had completely side-tracked him, and he had been so sure she would scream and storm off. He shook his head, deciding that he didn't understand women as he pulled the first-aid kit out of the tackroom.

When he got back into the hallway, she had turned on the stall lights, illuminating the horse clearly. Vegeta saw she was peering critically at the lead hanging next to the door, frowning as she rolled the lead in her fingers. He noticed that she did have boots and even coveralls on before she turned to him and said, "You know, your gear will last longer if you keep it clean."

"I do keep my gear clean," he hissed, grateful on some level that she had started hostilities again. Instead of responding, she held the lead rope in the light, pointing silently to the fresh horse manure caking the rope. Vegeta scowled, fighting not to flush as he said, "I don't know how that got there, but no one at Saiyan Stables treats tack so shoddily."

"Ok, if you say so," she said and dropped the lead, "but would you be willing to get me a clean one to use, and a halter too?" Vegeta glared at her but went and got another halter and lead, moving past her to slip the tack over Master's head. Even just a cursory glance told him more than he wanted to know about the stallion's condition; he was favoring his left rear leg and Vegeta thought he could already see it swelling. He felt his chest squeeze tight as the implications of tonight began to sink in.

Without a word, he handed the lead to the woman. "Thanks," she murmured as she slid into the stall, carefully moving up to Master's head. She started talking to the horse, muttering soft nonsense words as Vegeta began to check the extent of the damage; he nearly cursed when Master flinched away his left leg away from Vegeta's gentle touch. "He's not going to compete this weekend," Vegeta said gruffly, standing up and releasing the horse's leg. "The cut looks pretty bad, and I need to get the vet out here to check his vitals."

He moved out of the stall, heading for the truck where the phone was locked up, but paused in the doorway. "You will stay with him," Vegeta said. His words were not a question, but his tone was. Bulma nodded quietly as she rubbed the horse's head, understanding what Vegeta was feeling. Having a competing horse hurt was bad enough, but to have him hurt the night before the event was devastating.

The vet arrived quickly, a small bald man with a quick smile; his nametag said 'Krillian.' First he treated the cut; going to his bag, he pulled out a small syringe which he filled with local anesthetic and numbed the area. Then his deft fingers cleaned and sewed the wound shut, and wound a bandage over that to keep dirt out. "You'll have to change that daily, or more if it gets dirty," he told Bulma, who shook her head.

"Master is his horse," she said, nodding her head at Vegeta.

The vet nodded and said, "Like I just said, change it daily."

"What about the left leg's swelling?" Vegeta asked quietly, his voice stiff.

Dr. Krillian ran his fingers lightly over the horse's leg, mumbling to himself as he worked. Bulma kept a hold of the horse's head, murmuring nonsense words softly to him to keep him calm. She was a little surprised that Vegeta hadn't kicked her out by now, but he seemed to want her to hold the horse for the vet, so she did. Finally, the vet stood up and stretched, working his back, sore from being crouched over for so long. "It should be fine, but I want to do an x-ray on it tomorrow," Dr. Krillian said. "I don't want to send him home with some hidden bone chips or a hairline fracture."

"Alright, I'll bring him over to the vet station tomorrow," Vegeta said. "Should I just tend the other cuts and keep them clean?"

"Yeah, that's right, and he'll be good as new in a few weeks," Krillian said, his voice firm and gentle. "I know it's a loss that he can't compete-"

"That doesn't matter; his long-term health is more important," Vegeta cut him off. "Thanks for your help. I'll bring him by in the morning for the x-ray."

"Sure, see you then," the short vet said. "I'll just make arrangements for payment for the treatment later, alright?" At Vegeta's nod, he gathered his bags and left.

Vegeta stood in the center of Master's stall, his body stiff and his fists clenched. Bulma kept petting and scratching Master, soothing him with gentle fingers. Master's eyes had started to drift shut when Vegeta moved; the stallion jerked to alertness as Vegeta took the halter off his head.

Bulma left the stall as Vegeta slid the door closed. Together, they stood in the aisle for a moment before Vegeta picked up the gear and put it back in the tack room, stacking and hanging each piece with precise intensity. Bulma watched, her unease growing as the tension around Vegeta thickened. When he left the barn, she trailed behind him.

He stomped out to the cross-country course and leaned against a tree, staring out at the jumps he couldn't even see anymore. With a sudden snarl, he stepped back from the tree and punched it.


	5. Chapter 5

He stomped out to the cross-country course and leaned against a tree, staring out at the jumps he couldn't even see anymore. With a sudden snarl, he stepped back from the tree and punched it. Bulma jumped at the suddenness of the movement, but didn't try to stop him. He seemed to need the release, because he braced his back against the tree after the first punch and cursed softly as he looked at his scraped knuckles. He blinked in sudden surprise when he saw Bulma. "What the hell are you doing here?" he barked, scowling at her. "Why are you following me?"

Bulma blinked, caught off guard. "I'm not sure," she admitted finally. "I guess I was just worried about you."

"Why?" Vegeta snapped. "I'm a competitor, remember?"

"I don't know why I am out here or why I'm worried," Bulma said, crossing her arms. "You seemed upset; I guess I just like to help people."

"That's stupid," Vegeta grumped. "Why would you help someone who will beat you?"

"Its not just about winning," Bulma said, clenching her jaw. "It's about proving what you can do. And with Master out of competition, that is one less chance to prove that I have the better horse. And if you hurt your hand punching trees and have a diminished performance on your other horse, then again I have lost the opportunity to compete against you."

Vegeta stared at her for a long moment before saying, "So, this is all concern for your own prestige?"

"Mostly," Bulma admitted reluctantly.

"Mostly?" Vegeta asked. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know yet," Bulma said with a shrug. "I'm not sure."

"So you're out here, concerned about your prestige and something else for reasons unknown to you," Vegeta said, wearily rubbing his face with his hand. Laughter bubbled up in the back of his throat, and he bit it back, wondering why he found this exasperating conversation humorous.

"Sure, why not?" Bulma said with a smile. She watched him shift against the tree, then become still; while he didn't move, his hair and clothes blended into the shadows and only his pale face could be seen, hanging in the air like a ghost. After a moment, she asked, "Are you going to be all right?"

"Mostly," he answered.

"Mostly?" she parroted with a quick smile. "What does that mean?"

Vegeta looked at her, eyeing her quietly as he tried to decide how much to tell her. Finally, with a sigh, he admitted, "It means that Master and I won't have our perfect year."

Bulma frowned as she replied, "But you have next year. It's not like he's that old. What is he, ten, twelve?"

"He's ten," Vegeta muttered.

"Then you have a few more years with him," Bulma said, cocking her head to one side.

Vegeta stared at the ground before finally conceding with a sigh, "He was to be sold at the end of the season."

"Sold?" Bulma blinked in surprise. From what she remembered about the horse, he was just in the beginning of his prime. "Why?"

"So that he could get out of his sire's shadow," Vegeta said bleakly. "Warlander eclipses all of his offspring; my father won't even name one without the Warlander tag. And he breeds only to black mares so that all he gets is black foals. Warland Master looks like Warland Commander, and like Warland Prize and so on. And who is going to breed to Warland Master while Warlander is still alive? My father turns away more broodmares for Warlander in a month than Master would see in a year."

"I don't think I'm following," Bulma said, frowning slightly.

Vegeta sighs, looking irritably at Bulma. "Do you stand a stallion?"

"No yet," Bulma admitted. "I have one horse that I will put to stud when he makes his name, but he's not ready yet."

"If you are a small operation with one good stallion, you treat him as a prize. Warlander foals are rarely sold by anyone," Vegeta said. "So if you were looking for a breeding stallion, and saw that a performance-proven Warlander foal was available, wouldn't you be interested? And wouldn't you treasure him as an investment? I would prefer that Master to be a premier stallion at a smaller barn instead of just another Warlander foal at Saiyan Stables."

"And you wanted this year to be perfect since it was the last year he was yours," Bulma deduced.

"Yes," Vegeta admitted after a moment.

"I'm sorry about that," Bulma said softly, tucking her hands into her pockets. "I couldn't stand the idea of selling Flawless, so I don't know how I could deal with the idea of counting the days down, wanting each to be perfect." She cut back her next remark as it left her mouth, wondering why she felt such a strong urge to compliment Vegeta on how well he was handling the situation. She finally shrugged and said, "I'd probably be a complete nutjob by the time it was done."

"That would be difficult, since you can't become something you already are," Vegeta added in such a neutral tone that it took Bulma a second to realize she'd been slammed.

"Hey!" she yelped, putting her fists on her hips. "I am not a nut, you ass!"

Vegeta laughed, a strangely melancholy sound in the quiet night. "You are so easy to rile. You must be a hoot at dinner parties," he sneered.

With effort, Bulma gathered her temper, "So must you. After all, it's not often you see an ape trying to use silverware." Vegeta shot her a glowering glance and Bulma smirked as she said, "Now, who is easy to rile?"

"Whatever," Vegeta grumped as he pushed off the tree. "It's late and we both need sleep."

"Ok," Bulma said, surprised to find that she had enjoyed the conversation. She had never thought that the Saiyans could have anything smart to say, but Vegeta had a quick wit that she was hard-pressed to match. It was an interesting situation, talking to a guy who could banter with her. "Well, see you around tomorrow?"

"We'll be competitors, not chatty pals," Vegeta warned.

"I know," Bulma hissed irritability. "You didn't have to tell me that."

"Fine."

"Great," Bulma finished and stalked away, fuming impotently. They had been having a nice conversation, and he had to go and ruin it! _What is his deal, anyway?_, she huffed to herself as she went back to her truck to get her bags. From there, she went to the dorm room that she was to share with Chichi. Quietly, so as not to wake her friend, Bulma set her alarm for five and settled into the hard bed.

Morning came too quickly, and Bulma and Chichi both found themselves caught up in a mad dash to get ready. Chichi had to ride at eight, so Bulma braided Priss's mane and wrapped her tail in the barn while Chichi showered and dressed. When Chichi came down to the barn, she started working on Red, Bulma's first ride that day, while Bulma showered and dressed. To her disgust, Bulma found dirty straw in her hair from last night's adventure. As she pulled it out, she hoped that she could beat the pants off of Vegeta – it was the least she deserved after what she had put up with last night.

When she was dressed, Bulma critiqued herself in the mirror; the dressage event required her to look impeccable. She was dressed in the required white breeches with black, polished boots, a pale grey shirt with white caveat carefully pinned in place and her dark blue short jacket with tails. She had her blue hair tucked into a proper net, giving her a professional, mature look she didn't feel right now.

"This is it, girl," she muttered to her reflection. "Kick their asses." Her prep talk done, Bulma pulled off her jacket, tucked it over her arm inside out and snatched up the top hat that she hated but was required to wear. She gave the room one last check to see if she had forgotten anything, then she was racing back to the stable.

Chichi was just finishing Red's braids. "Crap," Bulma said, carefully laying her jacket and hat on the tack box, "I thought I'd get back in time to help you."

"That's ok," Chichi said with a smile. "He didn't give me much trouble." She fondly rubbed the gelding's face while Bulma inspected the horse's small, tight braids. "Are they alright?"

"You do such a good job," Bulma sighed to Chichi, "I wish that I could braid as well as you do."

"You have other gifts," Chichi said with a smile, reminded of her talk with Goku last night.

"You ready?" Bulma asked nervously as she moved to Priss' side. "Cause I'm about ready to throw up."

Chichi picked up her saddle cloth and moved to Priss' other side. "Don't throw up!" the black-haired woman exclaimed. "Cause then I will and I don't think that we'll make it through the day." Chichi laid the fleece saddle pad onto Priss' back and carefully adjusted it.

Bulma made sure the pad was properly laid on her side before picking up the saddle. "We'll make it," Bulma said, lifting the saddle into place on Priss' back.

As Bulma dropped the girth, Chichi reached under Priss and grabbed it, drawing it up under the mare's belly. "I know, but I still feel like I'm going to faint from the pressure," Chichi mused as she began the process of tightening the girth in steps. Priss had a bad habit of expanding her barrel so that the girth would hang loose.

Bulma stepped around to the tackroom again and got Priss' bridle. As Chichi worked on getting the girth set right, Bulma slid the bridle on the calm mare. She allowed herself to wonder if Red would continue to be calm this morning, or if there would be a fight to get him tacked up. Out of her peripheral vision, she realized that Chichi had stopped moving. She glanced up at her friend to see her staring up the aisle, watching that Saiyan, Goku, prepare one of the many black Saiyan horses. "Chichi?" she asked softly, putting a gentle hand on her friend's arm. "Are you ok?"

"Yes. No. Oh, I don't know!" Chichi said, pressing her hands to her face. "I like him, Bulma, I know I do. I've just met him, and I really like him."

"Does he like you?" Bulma asked as her heart constricted painfully.


	6. Chapter 6

"Does he like you?" Bulma asked as her heart constricted painfully. She was seeing the beginning of the end of the 'Yamcha Survivor Club,' but she wasn't sure she was ready to let go of it yet. She hadn't really considered that Chichi would be the first to leave.

"I think so," Chichi said, blushing slightly.

"Finish saddling up; we have to get you to the warm-up pen yet," Bulma said tersely as she moved to the mare's other side and pretended to be busy with the throatlatch. The remark wiped the joy off Chichi's face, and both women turned back to their tasks with new intensity. After a moment, Bulma realized that she should be supportive and said, "He seems nice."

"He is," Chichi said. "He's the exact opposite of Yamcha. He's honorable and noble and so honest. I don't think that he could lie if he wanted to."

"Just be careful, ok, Chi?" Bulma said, standing on tiptoes so that she could look at her friend over Priss' back. "He is a Saiyan."

Chichi looked at her, frowning. "So I should just ignore a nice guy because he's affiliated with a certain stable?" she snapped. "Bulma, are you serious? Or are you jealous?"

"Chichi, no," Bulma said, shaking her head as she moved to the stirrups and began to adjust them. "I don't mean it that way. All I mean is that the Saiyans have a reputation for not playing fair. So just be careful – in all dealings with them! You're on the fifth hole, right?"

"Bulma, you know how long I like my leathers," Chichi sighed, fiddling with the stirrup on her side to get the length correct. "I think that you're being silly. Normally, I would agree with you, but I talked to Goku for a long time last night, and he is nothing like Yamcha. I mean, I didn't pick up a single warning signal while talking to him." Chichi waited for a response, but none came. She glanced up from the stirrup to see Bulma staring down the hallway, a pensive look on her face. Chichi followed her gaze and was surprised to see that her friend – the one that had just firmly denounced the Saiyans – watching Vegeta Saiyan lead a limping horse up the aisle. She looked back at Bulma and was shocked to realize that the look on her friend's face was confused, unsure. Chichi had never seen Bulma look like that. "Bulma?"

"What? Oh, sorry, I got distracted," Bulma muttered, turning back to the saddle.

"By Vegeta _Saiyan_?" Chichi asked in full tease-mode.

"No!" Bulma yelped. Chichi giggled as Bulma's face turned a slow red.

"That's good, because I'd hate to have to turn your pretty speech on you," Chichi laughed as she gathered up Priss' reins.

"Yeah, sure," Bulma muttered and then said, "So, do you need me on the fence while you warm up?"

Chichi grew serious immediately. "Oh, would you, Bulma? I want to see if everything looks good from the ground."

"It will look great," Bulma said with a smile. "Come on, let's get you ready."

After seeing Chichi around the ring a few times, Bulma dashed back to the barn and began to tack up Red. The gelding was spooky, dancing and fidgeting so much that Bulma finally had to grab the lunge line and run him in circles for a few minutes. That took some of the bravado out of him, and the chestnut gelding was quickly readied.

Bulma lead him outside, then slid her foot into the stirrup and climbed on his back. From up here, things were a little better for her, as her focus began to narrow on the competition. She kept running over her goals with Red for this event: give him some experience at a high level event; see if he was really as good as she thought he was; and to see if he could cut it at this level. Not all horses could handle a four-star event, and while Bulma thought he could, and he acted like he could at home, the only way to be sure was to put him in one and see how he did.

She rode over to the warm-up pen and entered carefully, mindful of other horses in the arena. She glanced around for Chichi and rode toward her friend. Then Bulma realized that Chichi was riding next to Goku on one of the black Saiyan horses, and she pulled Red to a stop. Something akin to jealously curled in her stomach as she watched them ride close, but not too close. To someone who didn't know the story, it was just two competitors, riding side-by-side in the arena.

Red flinched to the left as a horse moved up on her right; to Bulma's irritation, Vegeta didn't keep going. Instead, he executed a perfect double half-halt, bringing his horse to a lovely square stop. Bulma suddenly felt very much the ugly duckling as she became painfully aware that Red had ambled to a stop and was even cocking one hoof forward as he rested his weight on the other three legs.

"Idiot," Vegeta snorted, watching Chichi and Goku.

"Excuse me?" Bulma snapped. "What did you call me?"

"Not you," Vegeta grumped as he rolled his eyes. "Kakkarot."

Bulma blinked for a moment, frowning in confusion. She hated to admit that she didn't know something, particularly to this brutish lout, but she finally had to concede. "Who?"

Vegeta gave her a withering look and sighed, "My brother. You know, the one that you met at dinner last night and who is panting after your friend."

"I thought his name was Goku," Bulma huffed. "That's what he told us anyway. And he'd better not be 'panting' after Chichi or I'll castrate him."

Vegeta looked at her for the first time in this conversation, his face set in cold unreadable lines. "And I hope that he's not serious," the Saiyan said. "It will be more trouble that way."

Bulma glared at the arrogant man, her hands twitching hard enough that Red began to fidget. "For your sake and mine," Bulma said in a tight voice, "you had better have a really good reason for that last statement. Chichi is my friend and she deserves someone who is serious about her."

Vegeta narrowed his eyes at her, noting the barely contained anger. Even as he wondered why his statement had set her off so badly, he attempted to diffuse her a little with an honest, neutral reply: "And I don't see why she shouldn't have someone dedicated to her as well. It just should not be Kakkarot."

"Why?"

"Of course you have to question," Vegeta growled before answering, "He has other obligations."

"What?" Bulma snarled, glaring across the arena. "Is he married or just engaged? I'll kill him." She had tightened her hands even further, and poor Red was literally dancing in place now as he desperately tried to figure out what she wanted.

Without thinking about it, Vegeta leaned over and put a hand on her arm. His touch caused her to jump with surprise and drop her reins as she twisted to face Vegeta. Her horse stopped his prancing with a happy sigh, but Vegeta didn't notice; his stomach suddenly bottomed out as the full force of her blue eyes slammed into him. He saw her surprise, which was just barely concealing her anger, but what he didn't expect to see was pain. It was a naked and raw ache, and Vegeta felt suddenly protective. That was enough to scare him and he pulled back from her. Ignoring her as best he could, he straightened his reins and said, "He is not allowed to date women in the sport. Our father thinks that it compromises you."

Bulma just stared, her expression one of total befuddlement. "Um, Vegeta, not to insult your father," Bulma finally said hesitantly, "but hasn't he heard of Michael and Danielle Collins? The husband-wife competitors who are arguably the best single opponents in the sport?"

Vegeta snorted. "My father competed against both when he was younger. He believed that they were biased when competing against each other. My father defeated them both many times."

"And they defeated him several times as well," Bulma said, shaking her head. "I don't think that I'll ever understand your father," she said ruefully.

"No one understands him," Vegeta said, glancing at her. She was looking at him, and they shared a moment of complete understanding. It was pleasant.

The loudspeaker blared, and the moment was gone. Bulma twisted around and scanned the ring. "Do you see Chichi?" she asked. "They just called her and I want to see her off." Vegeta jerked his thumb toward a corner of the ring. "Thanks!" Bulma barked. "Say, if I don't see you before you go – good luck."

Vegeta's face went stern and haughty. "Don't wish me luck," he growled. "I'm not the one who will need it." He swung his horse away from her, riding across the ring away from Bulma and Chichi.

With an irritated sigh, Bulma rode toward Chichi, who was preparing to leave the ring. The dark-haired woman was clearly nervous; her normally pale face was now chalky white. "Bulma?" Chichi gasped. "How do I look? Does Priss look alright? What if I forget the pattern?"

Bulma leaned out of her saddle and laid a hand on Chichi's shoulder. "You look great, Priss looks great, and you could run this pattern in your sleep," she said firmly, looking Chichi in the eyes. "You will do great."

"Yeah, totally," Goku said with a smile. "You'll do awesome."

"Ok," Chichi said, her voice tight. "Let's go."


	7. Chapter 7

"Ok," Chichi said, her voice tight. "Let's go."

Bulma watched her ride out of the arena, and then began working Red, trying to get him warmed up. The gelding always took some time to loosen up; the lunging earlier had helped but the Thoroughbred was always tense. Finally, though, she felt him bend him neck and arch his back, coming into full contact with her. She settled the gelding into an easy walk.

Chichi was next to the fence of the ring, waving to Bulma. Bulma waved back and trotted Red over, calling out, "How'd it go?"

Chichi made a face. "It was alright," she sighed. "I screwed up the third lead change on the B, and Priss was two steps late picking up the half-pass."

"Only two penalties?" Bulma said, punching her friend on the arm. "That's only a penalty of four points! Your final score must be great!"

"These were the mistakes that the judge didn't notice," Chichi said, wincing slightly.

"Eh, right," Bulma muttered. "So what was the final score?"

Chichi told her. Bulma made a conciliatory face and said, "That's not that bad. Priss can make up the difference tomorrow on the cross-country course."

Chichi frowned and said, "Bulma, what am I doing here? This is the cream of the cream; what am I doing here?"

"You're here to do your best and go to the Prix," Bulma answered, making her voice firm. "Even if you don't win, it is still an honor to score high enough to go to the Prix, which you will do. You belong here, Chichi; if you didn't, I wouldn't have advised you to spend all this money and time to come."

"You're right, Bulma," Chichi sighed. "It was just really discouraging."

"Dressage is not Priss's strong point," Bulma said. "Very few eventing horses are as good at it as they are the jumps, and Priss is still better than most. So she's going to rock tomorrow." The loudspeakers blared again, and Bulma heard Vegeta's name. She turned her head to the side and saw him ride confidently out of the ring. _Does he ever look frazzled?_ she thought irritably.

"Bulma?" she heard Chichi say. "Are you listening to me?"

Bulma turned back to her friend. "Of course!" Bulma gulped.

"You were not!" Chichi said, breaking into a grin. "You were checking out Vegeta Saiyan!"

"Oh, my god," Bulma said, rolling her eyes and praying that she was imagining the blush running up her cheeks. "Don't be twelve. It's Vegeta Saiyan."

"What about him?" Goku said as he came to a halt near them. "Just let me know what he's done and I'll apologize."

"He hasn't done anything," Chichi giggled. "Bulma was totally digging him."

"My brother, Vegeta?" Goku blinked in surprise. He turned to Bulma. "Do you like him?"

"No!" Bulma said and she nearly winced at the defensive tone in her voice. "I'm officially downgrading this conversation from a twelve-year-old level to a nine-year-old level. 'Like him?' You two do realize that you are the only ones your age still using those terms, don't you?"

"Look at her turn red," Chichi laughed gleefully.

"Don't laugh," Goku said, his voice solemn. "Vegeta could use someone special."

"'Someone special' is the term you use for a disabled adult's nurse," Bulma coldly pointed out.

"Vegeta is disabled," Goku said, "just not physically."

His serious expression had wiped all the glee from Chichi's face. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"He means that Vegeta is as emotionally mature as a vegetable," Bulma sighed, "in large part due to your father and his asinine assumptions and restrictions."

Chichi was frowning in confusion, but Goku asked, "What would you know about that?"

Bulma shrugged. "Vegeta's told me enough; about how your father has that crazy dating restriction," she said dismissively.

Goku gaped openly at her. "Vegeta told you that?" he gasped after a moment.

Bulma glanced at him with a pointed expression. "We were talking about you and Chichi," she said.

"Still," Goku said, "he doesn't even talk to other people, much less talk about such personal things."

"Oh my god!" Chichi laughed. "You know what this means, don't you? Vegeta likes you back."

"Leave off with the he likes, she likes crap, Chichi!" Bulma snapped. "It's immature."

"You would prefer the term love?" Chichi said, her tone teasing.

"No, no, god, no," Bulma moaned, burying her face in her hand. "Look, can we just drop this?" As if the fates agreed with her, the loudspeaker called her name. "I have to go!"

"Good luck!" Chichi cried and Goku echoed her with an added thumbs up. Bulma rode out of the ring, turning her mind to the upcoming test. Thanks to Chichi and Goku, she was so distracted by the whole Vegeta conversation that her nerves hadn't had time to eat at her; now they came back with a vengeance, gnawing at her gut.

Bulma trotted to the waiting area; to her surprise, Vegeta was still there. He seemed to be waiting for something, though he was watching the current competitor, and Bulma wondered briefly if he was waiting for her. She shoved the thought away almost immediately – it was ludicrous.

She stopped at the gate to the arena. The current competitor was in the dressage arena right now, a tall fellow on a tall bay horse. After a moment, Bulma recalled his name: Mitch Pastors, riding Flashback. Bulma watched him closely, trying to see if she could spot any clues about the arena that would help her. The arena looked normal enough: a six inch high white barrier marked the edge of the arena. Placards with various letters sat at intervals around the arena, marking where changes in the pattern would occur. Everything looked fine and Bulma didn't see that Flashback was having any problems with footing.

"Do your best." Bulma actually jumped when Vegeta spoke; she had been so focused on watching the competitor in the arena that she had almost forgotten he was there. She glanced at him, startled. He was watching the competitor as well; when she started to say something, he cut her off, "You will give me your best performance, so that I know I have earned my victory over you."

"You mean when I beat you," Bulma snapped. "Don't count your victory before the events are done."

Vegeta snorted. He didn't say anything – he didn't have time. Pastors and Flashback rode out of the arena. As he passed Bulma, Pastors gave her a nod of respect. Bulma smiled and returned it, feeling warm with the shared camaraderie of competitors.

The warm fuzzy faded as she realized that it was her turn. She gathered up the reins and straightened in the saddle, ignoring the flare of panic as the butterflies began fluttering in her stomach. She rode the entrance of the arena and waited for the judge to signal to her.

The judge was writing something down; as Bulma watched her, the judge passed the paper to a waiting official. The official carried the card to the scorekeeper, who read the results over the loudspeaker. Bulma noted with a frown that they were better than Chichi's. A polite applause rose up in the small watching crowd; dressage never drew a lot of spectators. There would be a bigger audience tomorrow at the cross country course.

The judge waited until the applause died down, then she reached over and rang her bell. As Bulma tightened her legs around Red and urged him into the arena, the official on the loudspeaker announced her and Red. Bulma rode out to the center of the arena along the back fence, then turned sharply to ride toward the judge. When she was finally in the dead center of the arena, she signaled for Red to perform two half-halts so that he came to a square stop. As he stopped, she moved her reins to one hand and saluted the judge, making each movement sharp. She held her position until the judge acknowledged the salute and Bulma began the test.

It was grueling. The judge rang the bell whenever she saw Bulma make a mistake. Bulma jumped every time that crystal ring rang out. Her back was drenched with sweat by the time she performed the final salute. With knots in her stomach, Bulma rode out and waited to hear the score. Vegeta was not waiting for her, and Bulma felt a vague sense of disappointment. She ignored it as hard as she could.

When the loudspeaker finally announced her score, Bulma groaned. It was what her mother would describe as a 'good foundation.' It meant that she wasn't going to have much room for mistakes tomorrow and the next day. With a heavy heart, she rode toward the barn.

Chichi came running up to greet her. "How did you do?" she gasped as Bulma swung out of the saddle.

Bulma told her, and Chichi smiled ruefully. "It's better than my score," the black-haired woman said with a touch of sadness. "Usually, Red's so uptight that he has problems being flexible enough in the dressage."

"Yeah, I know," Bulma said, pulling Red's saddle off. "Red was doing better than normal." Seeing the glum look on Chichi's face, Bulma added, "He did fine – I screwed up by missing a lead change. Twice. And the judge saw both of them. And that's just part of it."

"Goku is up in about ten minutes," Chichi sighed as she began to help Bulma put Red back in his stall. "I hope he does better."


	8. Chapter 8

"Goku is up in about ten minutes," Chichi sighed as she began to help Bulma put Red back in his stall. "I hope he does better."

Speaking of Goku's score made Bulma wonder how Vegeta had done. She didn't say anything though; she didn't want another round of teasing. Besides, the scores would all be posted by 5:00 p.m. She could check them on her own; she could use the excuse that she needed to check to see who was leading the show.

Bulma had no time to dwell on Red's performance; instead, she had to finish Flawless's preparations and help Chichi with Seattle StormCat. Storm was a retired Thoroughbred racehorse like Red, but the brown horse had been off the track longer than Red and was much steadier. Since half the preparations were already done, the two girls were able to fly through their tasks; they even had time for a bite of lunch. Then it was back to the warm-up ring to try to settle into the next test.

Bulma was much calmer this time. She trusted Flawless completely; he would put forward his best performance and she would be fine. She had run the pattern once, and she had learned from it. Bulma knew that this time, she would do better. She was on her best horse.

Bulma tested first this time; as she had suspected, it went a lot better this time. Part of her problem with Red was that she had spent so much time worrying about him screwing it up that she had forgotten to watch herself. With Flawless, she could focus on herself and not worry about him.

Chichi's scores were even lower than her earlier test, but the woman didn't care. Where Priss was somewhat better at the arena and cross-country jumping, Storm was a lot better in those areas. The brown horse would have a good chance to increase his score in the next two stages.

After Flawless and Storm were settled back into their stalls, Bulma dropped onto a hay bale and sighed heavily. "Are you as tired as I feel?" she heard Chichi ask, and Bulma looked up at her friend.

"More, I think," Bulma said with a grin. "Are we done yet?"

"We've taken care of the horses," Chichi said happily. "Now we can take care of ourselves. Dinner?"

"Shower first," Bulma said, rolling to her feet.

"Hey guys!" Goku called out from down the aisle as he walked toward them. Behind him, a knot of Saiyan employees were gathered around Vegeta; he was writing notes on a piece of paper. "There's this great sandwich shop that we're getting food from. You want to go in on our order and have dinner with us?"

"Sure," Chichi said, smiling shyly at Goku.

"Hmm, no cooking and cleanup, with the added bonus of not having to leave the grounds?" Bulma grinned as she dug out her wallet. "Sounds good. But can we shower first?"

"Here's some money; is that enough?" Chichi said, pulling some bills out of her jacket pocket. "Do they have turkey?"

Goku agreed to meet them back here in half an hour and took their orders and money. As Chichi and Bulma raced off to get cleaned up, he walked back to the group. "I hope you know what you're doing," Vegeta said gruffly. "Father will hit the roof when he finds out."

"You're going to tell him," Goku said, his voice heavy with resignation.

Vegeta rolled his eyes. "Don't be stupid," he growled. "There's no reason Father should know, but you know for damned sure that one of the grooms or other riders will tell him."

"I'll take the heat," Goku said softly. "I really think she's worth it."

"I hope so," Vegeta said, "because Father is going to crucify you when he finds out."

"She is, Vegeta," Goku said, glancing back the way that the women had walked. "She really is."

Chichi and Bulma showered, dressed and raced back to the barn, meeting with the members from Saiyan Stables. A blanket had been set up a little way from the barn, and the Saiyans all trooped out to it and had a picnic. The other grooms and riders were surprised when the two women joined them, but it wasn't their place to say anything. Instead, they enjoyed the rare company of other riders, made rarer by the attractiveness of the women.

If the Saiyan horses were all cut from the same mold, then their riders and grooms had been stamped with them. They were all clean-cut with matching clothes: the black polo shirt with the Saiyan logo and blue jeans. But more disturbing to Bulma was the fact that they were all male.

Women had been a strong presence in the eventing sport for a while now. Some of the best and brightest were female, and it seemed wrong to Bulma that Saiyan Stables had only men. She had heard that the Saiyans could be discriminatory, but sitting in the middle of all these men, she felt the truth of that statement.

Even weirder, none of the men were flirting, not even a little. Goku was talking softly with Chichi, but that wasn't really flirting, it was the first stages of a relationship. Vegeta was ignoring both her and Chichi as hard as he could, and while the other men were remaining distantly polite. It was creepy, and she was glad when dinner was done.

Bulma sighed and glanced at her watch; it was past time to go as far as she was concerned. But Chichi showed no signs of leaving soon, and Bulma finally had to speak up. "Hey, Chichi, we should get going, you know?" she said softly as she tugged on the sleeve of the pretty yellow shirt her friend was wearing. "I want to check the leader boards, and tomorrow will come early."

"Sure, I guess," Chichi said reluctantly, starting to gather her trash.

"I'll come with you," Goku said, grabbing up both his and her trash and bouncing to his feet. "I want to see the boards, too."

"Great!" Chichi said, her smile lighting up her face. Bulma shook her head as she watched them grin at one another. How could they be in love that intently, that quickly? Of course, Bulma had never seen her friend fall in love before, so maybe this sudden slide was normal for her.

The three threw away their trash and begin to walk toward where the boards were posted. Bulma and Chichi fell into step on either side of Goku. For Bulma, her position had been unintentional, but the symbolism of it irritated her. Goku was most certainly coming in between them, but Bulma wouldn't stop it. The look on Chichi's face was too happy to argue against.

She felt his warm presence before she noticed him in her peripheral vision. She turned to see Vegeta Saiyan walking next to her as if he were just strolling along the same path she had taken. "What do you think you're doing?" she said, surprise making her hostile.

"I'm walking with my brother to check the boards," he said simply, his face neutral. "Is there a problem?"

"No," Bulma said, nearly wincing at the petulant tone in her voice. "No problem at all."

The four continued their walk in silence, but that silence was broken when they got to the boards. Bulma was pleased to see that of sixty-two competitors, Flawless was number twelve and Red was thirty-fifth. Priss was twenty-second and Storm was forty-first. When she scanned the rider's names, she found Goku and Vegeta's horses: Goku's Silver Surety was seventeenth and his Warland Conqueror was twenty-fifth. Vegeta's other horse, Warland Commander, was seventh. Bulma sighed inwardly. She had a long way to go, though it looked like Flawless would definitely qualify for the Prix. Priss probably would too, but Red and Storm were still uncertain.

"Hmm," Vegeta grunted. "Six of the top twenty are Saiyan mounts. We'll have to improve that number tomorrow."

Bulma stared at him. "That's a 30 domination of the field," she said. "That's good, considering the quality of your competitors."

"Father wants us to have ten horses in the top twenty by the end of the meet," Vegeta said.

"Ten?" Chichi said. "Just how many horses did you guys bring?"

"Thirty," Goku said and added with a grin, "but then, when you have fifteen riders and ten additional grooms, you can field that many horses. Of course, we're down two horses, since Master got hurt and Inky's hocks were inflamed this morning."

"Our two best," Vegeta sighed, looking tired for a moment. Then his features hardened and he said, "Everyone will just have to do better from here on out. No mistakes."

"Wait a minute," Bulma interjected. "You guys really think that you'll have one-third of your horses in the top twenty?"

"Why not?" Vegeta said. "We're Saiyan Stables, and Warlander is the best sire of this generation."

"You're incredibly arrogant, you know?" Bulma said.

Vegeta cocked an eyebrow at her. "And your point is?"

"Above your comprehension, apparently," Bulma said irritably. "You can't just say stuff like that; you have to back it up. Sure Warlander is a good sire, but the best? I would argue that."

"You can say whatever you want, woman," Vegeta replied briskly, "but that doesn't—" His ringing phone cut him off, and Vegeta pulled it off his belt. When he checked the caller ID, his expression changed. Bulma couldn't put her finger on exactly how it did, but he was definitely not happy about who was calling. "I have to take this," he said and walked away from them as he answered the phone.

"Let me guess," Bulma asked. "The master of Saiyan Stables?"

"It's about the time he'd call," Goku said, his voice tight.

Chichi rubbed his arm comfortingly. "He isn't really that bad, is he?"

"Sometimes," Goku answered softly. "I'm just glad that Vegeta has the phone."

"You know, the more I hear about your father, the less I like him," Bulma muttered.

"Sometimes, I feel the same," Goku said, his voice sad. Chichi reacted to that sadness by turning to him and hugging him. Goku looked surprised, then happy as he put his arms around her. "Thank you," he whispered into her hair.

The hug lasted for a while; Bulma finally turned away from them, a little embarrassed by the intimacy of the moment. She tried not to stare at the other Saiyan, but there really wasn't anything to watch but Vegeta, and her gaze returned to him again and again. She couldn't hear what he said, but his irritation was clear, even from where she was. When he finally hung up, his arms shook with suppressed emotion – rage, Bulma would assume.

He glanced at his brother, still hugging Chichi, and a wave of emotions swept across his face. They were so thick and fast that Bulma couldn't recognize them. Then his face was blank, arrogantly neutral, and he walked over to them. When he came closer, Chichi and Goku pulled apart. But they lingered closer to one another; it was clear that they were becoming more and more comfortable together.

"We need to go to bed," Vegeta said gruffly to his brother.

"What did Dad want?" Goku asked.

Vegeta shrugged. "Just an update. He's checked the results so far on the internet, and he was calling to make sure that I had a plan to get our numbers up."

"Do you have a plan?" Bulma asked.

Vegeta shot her a sharp look and said, "Of course I do. That's why I need to collect my brother and get back to the stables so that I can instruct my men."

Chichi and Goku looked reluctant to part, but Vegeta was adamant, and Bulma didn't fight the separation too hard. It would be nice to have a bit of time with Chichi before bedtime. Together they went to check on their horses, then back to their dorm room. Both women got ready for bed, but they didn't fall asleep; instead, they began talking. Their talk quickly turned to men, and Bulma got the shock of her life.

"Bulma," Chichi said shyly, wadding and unwadding a blanket over and over again, "I think that I'm in love."


	9. Chapter 9

"Bulma," Chichi said shyly, wadding and unwadding a blanket over and over again, "I think that I'm in love."

I felt generous, so I'm giving two chapters today. Time for some kudos:

Yari – to the only person who has reviewed for me – you're awesome! Thanks for the support.

"Geez, Chichi!" Bulma yelped, sitting upright. "Are you serious?"

Chichi nodded slowly. "I think that I am. I've never felt like this before, not even with Yamcha," she said. "I mean I loved him, but it didn't happen like this."

Bulma leaned forward, clasping her hands together in a pleading gesture. "Just be careful, please," she said. "I don't want you to get hurt again."

Chichi smiled. "But that's what I like about Goku," she sighed. "I don't think that I have to be careful with him, Bulma. I don't think he'd hurt me, ever."

"You can't know that Chichi," Bulma said, feeling slightly panicked. "You met him two days ago."

"I know, its crazy," Chichi said. "But sometimes, you get these feelings about people, and you just know." She looked up at Bulma, her expression sure and calm. "He's nothing like Yamcha. He's the exact opposite. I can trust him."

"Are you sure?" Bulma asked. She was so afraid for her friend that she could taste it.

Chichi frowned at Bulma and answered, "Bulma, not every man is Yamcha."

"I know that!" Bulma snapped.

"No, you don't," Chichi said. "You're letting that experience cloud your judgment."

"Well, how do you know that your judgment isn't clouded?" Bulma said. "You barely know him."

"Look," Chichi said wearily. "Here's the logic. Love is a risk. You risk being hurt anytime you let someone close emotionally. If I am not willing to be hurt, then I'll never get to love again. I don't want that and I think that Goku is worth the risk. I think he's a good, honest person. And I think that I have realized his worth so strongly because he is so wonderful."

Bulma didn't feel better, but Chichi was a grown woman. "I hope you're right," she finally answered her friend.

"Bulma, I know that I am," was the soft reply. It was the last thing that was said that night, though neither of them really slept after that.

Morning was again a mad rush. Priss was first again for Chichi, but Flawless was Bulma's morning ride. Fortunately, preparing for the cross-country course was easier for both the horse and the rider. When Bulma rolled out of bed, she skipped the shower and instead began pulling on her clothes. She'd get dirty on the course, so what was the point? Her shirt and pants were both comfortable riding clothes. Instead of fancy outfits, she pulled on her vest and helmet.

The vest was specially made for eventing performance; it was designed to protect the rider's torso in case of a fall. The helmet did much the same for the head. Bulma also dug her medical card and its holder out of her suitcase and attached it to her arm.

Chichi was running around doing much the same. "Stopwatch," she said, and tossed the device to Bulma.

"What are you doing with my stopwatch?" Bulma asked as she caught it.

"You'd left it in the trunk," Chichi said with a grin. "Or maybe it fell out of your bag. It doesn't matter; you have it now."

"You're the best, Chichi," Bulma said, giving her friend a hug. "Ready to go get the kids ready?"

"Yep!" Chichi chirped.

The two women hurried out to the stables, shivering in the pre-dawn air. The cross-country series took longer, and so started earlier and ran later. The sun was a glimmer of gold in the east as Bulma rationed out a bit of food to Red and Flawless. She was careful not to give them too much; she needed to give them enough for energy but not enough to make them feel full and sluggish.

She began to groom Flawless before he was done eating; she needed to make sure that his coat was clean before she tacked up. Any dirt in his coat would irritate him when he had a saddle on.

Once he was clean, she put the jumping saddle on his back, clenching it tight. Then she slid on the bit and bridle, happy that she didn't have to braid the horses today – they could ride without any 'fancy hairdos,' as her mother called them. She was getting close to the wire when she got the bridle on, so when she couldn't find one of her jump boots, she fought panic. "Chichi, have you seen one of my jump boots?"

"What? You're missing one?" Chichi said from behind Storm's flank.

"Yeah, I am," Bulma gulped. "I'm sure I packed all of them!"

"What about your back-ups?" Chichi said, moving around Storm's backside to stand in front of Bulma's open trunk. "I have an extra one if you need it."

"No, I have a spare," Bulma said fretfully. "It just doesn't match—"

"Match?" Chichi barked, laughing. "No one cares! It'll be fine. Just use the spare."

"Will you look for it if you get a chance?" Bulma asked as she dug the fourth boot out and looked at it distastefully.

"Yes, if I get a chance," Chichi said, shaking her head in exasperation. "Now, go, use the extra boot, and do well!"

Bulma pouted unhappily as she picked up Flawless right fore leg and slid the boot in place, tightening the straps firmly. She put his foot down and frowned harder at the unfairness of it all. The other three boots were dark blue, and the one black boot was bothering her. Worse, it was scuffed and even wrapped with some black electrical tape, probably to hide a crack or other damage. But even Bulma admitted that she didn't have much choice in the matter.

With that done, she was ready. She led the bay horse out into the early sunshine, rubbing his face gently before climbing aboard him. Fighting down the butterflies in her stomach, she rode over to the beginning of Phase A of the course. Phase A was the ten minute warm-up jog to get Flawless into the event. Despite the fact that it was easy, it was a required part of the competition, as it allowed the judges to see if the horse was fit enough to run two sustained courses with a steeple chase in between. If a competitor didn't finish Phases A, B, and C in good time and without displaying unhealthy levels of fatigue, they would be disqualified for lack of fitness.

The official was holding a timer and a radio. When the timer reached a certain point, he nodded to Bulma to start. As she kicked Flawless into a fast jog and started her stopwatch, she heard him announce her start into the radio.

This is nice, Bulma thought as she rounded a bend and was instantly alone with Flawless. The stallion was going perfectly and Bulma pushed the butterflies in her stomach away, trying to enjoy this moment of calm, riding her horse through the idyllic countryside. She didn't let her enjoyment go too far; she kept her eye on the stopwatch and her mind on the course.

The course eventually brought her around to the next stop, the beginning of Phase B. The official here noted her time but thankfully didn't have her stop. Bulma was appreciative – Phase A was a warm-up, and it was best on the horse to go straight to Phase B, the steeplechase.

Bulma gave Flawless more rein and set him at a brisk gallop. She needed to average 24 miles per hour on this phase to complete it in the given time. And when the first jump rose in front of her, she didn't slow down; instead she galloped straight into the jump.

Flawless took it perfectly, of course, flying over it like he had wings. It was the normal steeplechase jump; a wooden fence around a box hedge. You didn't have to clear the hedge completely, but if you went too low, you could get caught in it and lose time.

Bulma counted through each of the jumps, grinning madly in exhilaration. She was almost sorry to see the last one pass under her, but she couldn't linger; she was at Phase C.

The official waved her through while noting her time again; the riders in front of her must be on track, Bulma thought. It was bad in that it meant that no one was disqualifying themselves, but fine in that they weren't holding anyone else up.

Bulma reined Flawless back down to a jog and hopped off of him, running beside him. Phase C was all about the horse getting his wind back; having less weight to carry could only help him. She mounted again before they had reached the vet's box, once she was sure that Flawless had caught his breath.

Dr. Krillian waved to her when she came into the tent. "Hi, again!" he chirped as he began to run his hands over Flawless' joints, looking for swelling. "How are you today?"

"Fine," Bulma said, holding Flawless. Trying to be casual, she asked, "How was the Saiyan horse that you saw last night – Master? Were his x-rays ok?"

"Yep, no chips, no fractures. He'll be fine," Krillian said, unslinging his stethoscope and pressing it to Flawless' barrel. He checked two more spots on the horse and nodded. "This guy is good to continue to Phase D." He gave Bulma one last grin. "Good luck!"

"Thanks!" Bulma said as she swung back up into the saddle. She trotted Flawless over to the starting box, which was really just four posts in the ground with a rope strung along the top. An official had her wait for a moment; when the competitor ahead of her was far enough along on the course, she was given the signal to begin Phase D.

Flawless quickly settled into a fast canter. Bulma's stomach clenched as they quickly put the first straightaway behind them and came to the first jump. It was a simple oxer built of logs, and Flawless cleared it easily. Bulma didn't get too excited; the hardest jumps were still ahead of her.

They quickly settled into the rhythm of the race, taking all of the jumps with ease. They came to the first wall, a low, wide jump that required the horse to land on top of it, take a step and jump off the other side. Some horses didn't handle it well, but Flawless took it perfectly. Bulma dared to hope that they might have a perfect run – they were well under time and Flawless was handling every jump like it was nothing.

They took the tight turn to the water jump – a slight rise to a fence, followed by a drop into water. It was one of the harder jumps; horses didn't like jumping into water and they really had to trust their rider to do it without hesitation. The horse would get one pace to prepare for the jump; the plan was to land, shorten the stride and then launch out over the water as far as you could. Water would drag and slow down, so it was important to get a long, low jump to clear as much of it as you could.

Flawless straightened from the turn, rode up the rise to the fence and cleared it easily. Bulma felt him take that stride, gather himself and then jump out over the water. "Good boy!" she murmured as she saw how much of the water they had cleared as Flawless came down into the liquid.

Bulma heard a strange pop –

And Flawless went into the water, tumbling her from the saddle. Bulma had just enough time to think, _He fell! Is he alright?_, before something struck her head and she passed out.


	10. Chapter 10

Vegeta was in something of a bad mood. This morning, four of the Saiyan horses had evidenced lameness and had to be disqualified. Four! And, of course, they had all been in the top twenty after yesterday's dressage event. His father would not be happy when he heard about it tonight.

Vegeta was now leaning against the fence with the handful of other spectators, watching the other contestants. He had been the second rider that morning, and had already made his run – a perfect one, of course. Normally, he would have been preparing himself and Master for this afternoon's run, but with Master out of the competition, he had nothing else to do other than watch the other contestants.

He had positioned himself with a good view of the water jump. It's a good measure of a team's skill and Vegeta was critically analyzing everyone who came over it. He was also noting who swung wide to have a straighter approach to the jump and who took the tight corner. The tight corner was the faster course – Vegeta himself had taken it during his ride – but you were more angled upon starting the approach to the jump. Good teams could get things straightened out fine; adequate ones would come at an angle, making the jump harder on the horse.

A familiar bay horse came around the tight bend and Vegeta focused his attention on it. As the bay straightened out from the turn and approached the gates, Vegeta told himself that he was interested in this team because the bay and his blue-haired rider were turning out to be surprisingly tough competitors.

The bay hit the edge of the drop and executed a powerful jump, putting him well over the water; Vegeta found himself nodding approvingly, despite the fact that she was a competitor.

The bay hit the water and went down, throwing his rider. Vegeta was shocked into motionlessness for a second before he vaulted the fence and ran to assist. Several other people were running forward too, but Vegeta was the first to reach them.

Before he had reached the jump, the horse began to scream, a terrible noise. The bay stallion began to thrash in the water, trying to regain his feet; his struggles were perilously close to his unmoving rider. Vegeta caught a sickening vision of the horse's foreleg, gone below the shin, but it was so fast, he was unsure. And he was more concerned for the rider, wading quickly toward her.

He grabbed the floating woman and pulled her away from the writhing horse, rolling her over onto her back. He cradled her against him in the water, trying to move her as little as possible. It seemed like a nightmare, huddling in the cold water, holding her still and trying to find the breath of life in her body, listening to the horse give that same terrible heart-breaking cry.

The paramedics were there quickly and they took her from him. He let her go reluctantly; that should have bothered him, but he wasn't about to worry about it right here. With her in good hands, he felt helpless, so he fell back on what he could do.

Helpers were trying to get around the horse, to restrain it. Vegeta watched carefully, then lunged in and grabbed for the bridle. He had always been good about reading horses and their movements and his fingers curled around a rein. He was able to haul the horse's head to him; once he had his arms wrapped around its head, it stopped fighting.

"Get him up!" someone yelled.

Vegeta shouted, "His right fore! Check it!" He saw one of the helpers run his hand down the leg under the water; in Vegeta's arms, the horse shuddered but didn't fight. "Good boy," Vegeta whispered, stoking the horse's cheek. "It's ok."

"It's gone," the man checking the leg said. "It's just _gone_!" His face was ashen.

Vegeta's stomach twisted; he hadn't been seeing things. Even as he heard someone start to ask what was gone, he ordered, "Get the vet." He held the bay horse's head, wishing that he had paid attention enough to know its name. "It's alright," he lied to the horse, making his voice a soothing murmur. "It will be ok, I promise."

An ambulance arrived, and Vegeta watched as Bulma was loaded into the back. Before it had pulled away, a golf cart arrived with Dr. Krillian. The small vet didn't hesitate; he dropped his bag and leapt into the water, wading out to the horse. "What do we have?" he asked.

"His right fore leg is gone," the man who had been dealing with the leg said. He was still ashen.

"Gone?" Krillian's voice was flatly disbelieving.

"Gone," Vegeta confirmed. "Below the shin. I saw it."

Krillian eased up to the horse and slid his hand under the water, feeling down the leg. The horse squealed and tossed his head, forcing Vegeta to tighten his grip. When the vet looked up, grief twisted his face as he said, "There's nothing I can do."

"I know," Vegeta said, somewhat unnecessarily. "Do you have something to end it?"

"Yeah," Krillian said, and Vegeta found himself liking the small vet, if only because the obvious anguish the man felt about having to put the horse down. It was a good horse and it deserved better than this. Dr. Krillian dug a large syringe out of his bag and moved back toward the horse. "Hold his neck straight and tight for me, will you?"

Vegeta nodded and braced his feet against the bed of the water jump, pulling the neck as tight as he could. He knew that Krillian was trying to find the carotid artery that ran through the neck and he helped as much as he could. Finally the vet stepped back and Vegeta eased the hold he had on the horse's head.

He held the horse until the vet pronounced him dead. Comforting Bulma's horse while he died was all Vegeta could do for her.

Vegeta didn't stay to see the body removed. He grabbed a ride back to the vet's box with Dr. Krillian. On the way, he asked the vet for a favor. Krillian agreed, though he looked surprised by the request. "You know, that's an expensive procedure," the vet remarked.

"Charge me for it," Vegeta said in a tone that brooked no argument. Once at the vet's tent, Vegeta got another ride back to the barns. He went straight to Stable A, grabbing Kakkarot as soon as he saw him. "Where is that woman you're talking to all the time?" he barked.

"Chichi?" Kakkarot asked stupidly. "She was taking care of her horses, last time I saw her. Why?" He did a double take. "Hey, you're wet!"

Vegeta pushed past his brother, then reconsidered and dragged him down the aisle. If the woman got hysterical, then Kakkarot could deal with her. Ignoring his brother's questions, he peered into the stalls, looking for the woman.

He found her brushing down an Appaloosa in the last stall. "Bulma is injured," he said without preamble. "Her horse is dead."

The woman went white; Vegeta was impressed – he didn't know that people could actually turn that color. Her mouth opened but she didn't say anything.

It was Kakkarot who spoke. "What?"

"Her horse went down in the water jump," Vegeta said. "He broke his leg and threw her. She was taken by the ambulance and the horse was put down."

"Oh, my god," Chichi gasped. "I have to go!" Kakkarot put an arm around her, steadying her.

"Your second ride!" Kakkarot exclaimed. "Will you be back in time?"

"I don't care," Chichi said. "I have to be there."

"Would she want you to finish the ride?" Vegeta asked.

Chichi hesitated, torn. "I think so," she finally admitted, "but I'm going to go anyway." She shivered. "I couldn't finish like this."

Vegeta didn't think about what he did next. He grabbed a piece of scrap paper from his pocket and scribbled down the number to his cell phone. "Keep us informed of her status."

Kakkarot stared at his brother; Vegeta ignored him, even as he thought, _Father is going to kill me._

"I will," Chichi promised as she left the barn.

"It's too bad," Kakkarot sighed. "She had another horse to ride this afternoon. Chichi said he was a long shot, but he might have done well enough."

Vegeta blinked at his brother as a thought occurred to him.


	11. Chapter 11

Thanks to Yari, Crimson, Khris and Junkyard for the great reviews.

To answer the question asked (remind me if I forget one): Yes, the leg was shattered so badly that it was basically amputated. I remember that sometime in during the Breeder's Cup in the early '90's, they had a rash of broken legs (the Breeder's Cup is one of the big Thoroughbred race meets; it is generally in October, and it has several premiere races in one day). I remember one picture where this happened to one of the young fillies, though to a lesser degree than Flawless' leg. That filly (which is a female horse less than four years old) was put down.

I have a life-long love of horses, but I have never had the opportunity to own one due to circumstances. I have studied them intensively, and for a while was involved in a fantasy horse racing organization, where I learned a lot about horse aliments and genetics. The information about eventing I learned because I love this sport. Someday, I may be able to compete, on a low-level circuit.

I'm glad you are all enjoying the fiction. Thank so much for reading **and** reviewing!

* * *

"This is highly non-standard," the official said. 

Vegeta nodded in agreement even as he argued, "Yes, but not unprecedented. You have allowed last-minute substitutions before, and my horse was pulled out this morning."

"But not without the owner's consent," the official pointed out.

"The owner is in the hospital," Vegeta replied, "and can't provide consent." He leaned forward and tried to be charming as he said, "If she refuses consent when she wakes up, then you can withdraw the horse."

"If I allow you to ride, and you injure the horse, then the Eventing Organization is liable," the official sighed.

"Bulma is my friend," Vegeta said. "I wouldn't hurt her horse. I want to help her." And the sad thing was that it wasn't a lie; he wanted to what he could to help the blue-haired woman.

"Fine," the official said, making a notation on the computer. "I'll note the change in your ride, and bump Red Valentine back to the last start this afternoon."

Vegeta frowned. "Red Valentine?"

The official gave him an unamused smile. "Your dear friend's horse – the one you'll be riding on? That's his name. You'll be riding him in," he checked his watch, "less than two hours."

_Father is going to kill me_, Vegeta thought as he tugged the girth strap tight around the chestnut's belly.

"Father is going to kill you," Kakkarot said, watching Vegeta tack up Bulma's gelding. "And you don't know the first thing about this horse."

"I have fifteen minutes to learn," Vegeta said as he mounted Red and gathered up the reins.

Kakkarot sighed. "Can I talk you out of this?"

Vegeta didn't bother to reply; Kakkarot already know the answer. Instead, he went to the warm-up area and began to focus on the horse under him. He quickly determined that the animal was anxious and easily rattled, but when you could hold his focus to the task, he was actually quite responsive. He had a quick, sure way of moving that would help on the ride today. If Vegeta had had more time with him to build trust, Vegeta was sure that he could steady the horse out, but he wasn't going to be given that time.

Instead, he did what he could through the warm-up and the first three phases. The gelding was doing fine, but Vegeta didn't know how he would handle himself on the cross-country course itself. When Dr. Krillian gave him the final go-ahead, he muttered to himself, "I guess now we find out."

The first jump told him a lot. On the approach to the oxer, Red tried to blow out to the right, forcing Vegeta to tighten up the left rein and drive the gelding in with his knees. Once Vegeta had convinced the horse that he was going to jump, the gelding threw himself forward into the jump with enthusiasm.

It was like that on every jump. The gelding had talent, but he lacked the confidence to take the jumps. Vegeta wouldn't have brought a horse like this to the Prix, though he knew that smaller stables often brought horses that weren't quite ready just to have another body on the course. Saiyan Stables never had to resort to that maneuver; they always had more horses ready than they could send to an event.

Vegeta felt some trepidation as he approached the water jump, but Red took the rise easily, jumped the fence at the top with ease and made the leap over the water without hesitation. He didn't jump as long over the water as Vegeta would have liked, but it was adequate for the job.

The only other jump that concerned Vegeta was the ditch jump, where a horse jumped a fence one stride in front of a three-foot ditch and then had to jump out on the other side, leaping a fence one stride later. A lot of horses refused the leap out of the ditch. The sides perpendicular to the walls of the jump were slanted so that a horse could get out if they refused, but it was a penalty to do so.

Red took the first fence effortlessly and made the drop into the ditch. Vegeta felt the gelding hesitate when he saw the jump up, and Vegeta clamped down on the horse's sides, driving him forward. For a second, he thought that Red would completely disobey him and blow out, but the long-legged chestnut gracelessly leapt out of the ditch with a grunt. He had lost enough speed that his jump over the fence was awkward and Vegeta heard the top pole clatter down. It didn't matter; the gelding was doing great considering his lack of confidence.

They were a touch over time when they finished, but Vegeta was pleased over all. The gelding was a better horse than he appeared; Vegeta would have never considered him, but he was real sharp. Vegeta's appreciation of Bulma's eye for horses went up.

He rode back to the barn and began to strip the gelding without fanfare. One of the other Saiyan grooms wondered up and began to help, and Vegeta gave the man a brief smile. "I think that it was really great what you did, sir," the groom said, nodding at Vegeta. "I've been thinking about leaving Saiyan Stables, but after what you did, I just might stay."

"Your name is Tein, right?" Vegeta asked.

"Yes, sir," Tein nodded, taking Red's lead line. "Should I start walking him?"

"Yes," Vegeta said, standing back and gathering up the tack. He started to put it in the women's tackroom, but the door was locked and he stashed it in his room instead.

And then, he had nothing to do. Without any distractions, Vegeta began to think. He began to worry. He began to wonder why the hell that woman hadn't called him back to tell him about Bulma.

What the hell was going on?

Kakkarot finally got tired of Vegeta hanging around and growling and said, "Will you just go to the hospital already? You're driving everyone crazy."

"Don't be stupid," Vegeta snarled. "I'm needed here." He stalked away to deal with a groom who wasn't rubbing a hot horse down right.

It was dinner before Chichi called. "She's still out," Chichi said, her voice weary. "All they are telling me is that she'll wake up when she wakes up."

"Is she going to be able to ride again?" Vegeta asked. It was a very important question and he didn't think about why.

"If she wakes up," Chichi said, and she sounded exhausted. "Could I talk to Goku?"

After Vegeta had passed the phone to Kakkarot, he went to check on the women's horses. The three of them were obviously unsettled, but fine. Kakkarot's woman's second horse, the one that didn't get out today, was extremely restless, so Vegeta pulled him out and began to lunge the horse.

After he had calmed the horse, he checked on the other two. Vegeta was agitated; something was wrong, something that he couldn't put his finger on. With a shake of his head, he went to check the leader board.

And that was when his agitation blossomed into full-fledged paranoia. Over fifteen horses had been disqualified or removed from competition for one reason or another. And most of the horses disqualified were top competitors; all had been predicted to be in the top half by the end of the competition.

Vegeta whirled and marched straight to the veterinarian's tent. He burst into the area without greeting, startling the small man, who yelped and dropped the clipboard he was holding. Vegeta immediately said, "Have you ever seen a horse break his leg that way?"

"What?" Krillian gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. "The bay that went down in the water jump?"

"Yes. Have you ever seen a horse break its leg like that?"

"No," Krillian said, leaning against his table, his earlier scare forgotten. "And believe me, it's been bothering me."

"And did you know that over a quarter of the horses at this competition have been withdrawn or disqualified?" Vegeta pressed.

Krillian frowned angrily and said, "Yeah, I had seen that, but it's not a disease, it's mostly unexplained lameness."

"Doesn't that concern you?" Vegeta asked.

"It does, but I'm not sure what to do," Krillan confessed.

"Something is _very_ wrong here," Vegeta muttered, his eyes boring into the smaller man. "There must be something that someone can do."

Dr. Krillian was quiet for a moment before he said, "Would you allow me to run some tests on your horses?"

Vegeta frowned, blinking in surprise. "Why my horses?" he asked, his voice a dangerous grumble.

"Because you have some lame horses, and you're the one who came to me and demanded I do something. Well, this is something I can do, and I need your help to do it."

Vegeta got very little sleep that night. He was very worried, and he found himself patrolling the stables frequently, walking through the dark night like a haunted man. And he was haunted; strange ideas and feelings ran crazily through his mind, confusing him. Finally, he refused to think about them anymore, and just focused on his patrol.

He finally wore himself out, or maybe he didn't want to go into Stable A again. Flawless' empty box was a mocking wound, a pain that he just couldn't work past. It wasn't his fault that the horse had gone down like that, but the anxiety he felt over Bulma's loss was unsettling. With a final grumble of irritation, he went to Saiyan Stables' rig, and curled up to sleep in the cab.


	12. Chapter 12

Thanks to all my reviewers, whether you were just saying cool or offering advice. I hope you enjoy this segment.

* * *

She hurt. It was the first thing Bulma noticed as her eyes fluttered open. The soft click of a door latch echoed in her ears, but she wasn't certain if that had been real or a dream. Groaning softly, she glanced around, trying to discover where she was. "Hospital," she mumbled, slowly sitting upright.

There was a rolling table in front of her, put dead in front of her. A newspaper, purposefully situated so that it was the first thing she saw, lay oddly folded. The picture drew her eyes, but she couldn't immediately see why; it was too complex, too complicated to be seen clearly immediately. She looked at the title next to the picture, and had much better luck comprehending it: _Tragedy at St. Georges – horse dead, rider hospitalized._

Bulma' eyes widened as she looked at the picture again, forcing her brain to connect the shapes in the picture and match them to the byline. When she did, Bulma realized the image was of Vegeta holding Flawless' head as the vet administered a shot to the neck. For a second, she was stunned; then the shock faded and become pain. "No, no!" she cried, weeping and howling as Chichi burst into the room. Her friend didn't need to ask; once she saw the newspaper, she just grabbed Bulma and let her cry in her arms.

* * *

"Who the hell did that!?" Vegeta snarled at Kakkarot, aware that his brother had no better idea than he, but unable to just let it go. Chichi had been angry when telling them about the mysterious person who had let Bulma find out about her horse's death in such a heartless way, but the Saiyan brothers were angrier than Chichi, who was too busy caring for Bulma.

"Someone cruel," his brother answered, looking angry, but not as enraged as Vegeta felt. "Someone who likes to hurt people."

_Someone who hurt Bulma._ The thought rattled around in his head like a live beast, seeking release. But there was nothing here for Vegeta to safely vent on, no woodpile that need to be cut into wedges, or a ditch begging to be viciously dug. All he could do was rage silently.

"Mr. Saiyan?" The two men turned, watching as Dr. Krillian approached them. He looked pale and haggard, as if he'd not had much sleep.

"Yes," Vegeta said, "what have you found?"

"Sabotage," Krillian said wearily. "Multiple cases, all across the event. In most cases, the lame horses had been injected in the hocks with a chemical irritant. Some of the doses… they were high. Some of the horses won't recover, I think."

Both men were shocked into silence; even Vegeta, who had been expecting this, was horrified to find it was actually true. "The top horses," Vegeta concluded. "Someone wants to go to the Grand Prix. Badly."

"It's worse," Krillian added. "Preliminary tests… you were right about the bay, Vegeta. That was an unnatural break."

"I knew it," Vegeta said grimly. "What was it?"

"Explosives. A small amount was all that was needed. I think it was concealed in the horse's boot," Krillian sighed, rubbing his head as exhaustion glinted in his eyes. "This whole thing sucks."

This was not what Vegeta was expecting. "That's…" He couldn't finish the statement. It was cruelty beyond even what they'd heard already. It only solidified Vegeta's determination to find out who had done this.

Krillian nodded grimly. "The police have already been notified. They'll… want to talk to you, Vegeta."

"What? Why?" Kakarrot demanded.

Vegeta nodded. "That's fine. I thought they might want to." He glanced at his brother. "They always investigate the person who reports the crime." Kakarrot's eyes widened, then narrowed in anger. Vegeta understood the expression. Someone was hurting horses to win. The horseman in Vegeta, the part of him that did this year after year out of love for the sport and the animals, was enraged at the thought. He looked at Krillian, his expression resolute. "Whatever I can do to help. I want this person found."

* * *

The news shocked St. Georges. Several competitors immediately packed up and left, preferring to miss the chance at the Grand Prix in favor of protecting their horses. Vegeta had had a similar thought, but his father did not. So Saiyan Stables stayed.

But they weren't helpless. Ignoring what his father would think, Vegeta approached the remaining owners in Stables A and C, offering to help form a neighborhood horse watch. Some declined; most did not. They couldn't afford to refuse the help that Saiyan Stables' number would bring. Then he went to the other Stables, and offered to make room for them in Stables A and C, so that they would all benefit from additional numbers, as well as proximity to the more-traveled areas right next to the arenas. The event coordinators locked down on the security as well; by the end of the day, several men and women in jackets emblazoned with Dawson's Security Firm were patrolling the stables and grounds.

But the saboteur or saboteurs had already won. Over half the competitors had withdrawn. St. Georges became a ghost town overnight.

But Vegeta wasn't worried. He was now forewarned, and he was ready for further action by the saboteurs. The saboteurs seemed to sense this, for that evening was quiet. In fact, it was calm enough that Vegeta felt free to make a trip to the hospital.

His father was going to hate this, when he found out. Vegeta knew he would; his father had spies among the riders and grooms, and rumors about Saiyan Stables moved faster than their horses. But the flowers, the bundle of bright wildflowers, might escape the rumors. It was worth the risk, in Vegeta's mind, for the chance to give her something that might express his sympathy.

Finding her room proved to be difficult; the hospital was a large complex. But he finally got directions to the right area, and the right room. Drawing in a deep breath, he tapped on the half-open door and peered into the dark room.

Chichi's face rose like a specter out of the gloom, her eyes widening when she saw Vegeta. Standing up, she rushed to him, her hands rising. "You shouldn't be here," she whispered, actually putting her hands on his arms and pushing back, trying to get him out of the room.

"No, Chichi. Let him in." Bulma was another ghost, her pale skin reflecting the light from the hallway. She sounded tense, which was expected.

What Vegeta wasn't expecting was the newspaper smacking him in the nose. He'd had a vague sense of her whipping something at him, but he didn't see the newspaper itself until he hit him, exploding into various individual pages. "You killed my horse!" Bulma shrieked, her voice inhumanly high.

Vegeta did the only thing he knew to do; he repaid her in kind. The flowers hurled with accuracy, erupting in a fountain of cut plants and sweet scents upon impact with her face. "I did not kill your horse!" he roared. Chichi stood halfway between, startled into stillness by the sudden violence around her. "Give us a moment?" he rasped to her, and she took three steps automatically.

Vegeta saw her start to hesitate, and he didn't let her stop. Planting a hand in her back, he shoved her the rest of the way through the door and shut it behind her. As a final insult, he wedged a chair under the handle to keep her out.

Their privacy assured, Vegeta turned to her. "I did not kill your horse," he said, his voice softer but just as firm. "His leg was completely shattered. He would have been put down. I helped him. He was suffering." Bulma stared at him, her lips trembling. Vegeta waited until he was sure she wasn't going to launch into him again, and then continued, "He was a fine horse. I hated helping to put him down; I hated the loss of such a beautiful animal."

Her head dropped into her hands, and her shoulders started to shake. Vegeta's heart sank as he realized she was crying. Why'd he have to stop making her angry? Unsure of what to do, he gathered up flowers, rewrapping them in their paper. Some were broken, their heads bobbing on shattered stems. With a frown, he set the banquet on the bed.

She was still sobbing, and he looked at his hands uncertainly. Was he supposed to comfort her? Bulma clearly needed some comfort, but Vegeta felt woefully unprepared for this. Drawing a deep breath, he fell back on comfortable ground. "Red did well," Vegeta said. "He likes to blow out unless you hold him tight, but he'll get the job done."

Bulma, sniffing, looked up. "What do you mean?" she asked, rubbing her eyes with a blanket.

"I ran Red for you, over the eventing course," Vegeta said casually as he tossed a box of kleenix onto her lap. But there was nothing casual in his statement; that was something that Bulma had never heard happening, save among close teams. "He did well enough. A bit over time; I think that was my fault, though. I was a bit hesitant to give him his head on approach once I found out he likes to refuse jumps."

"I… thank you," she said automatically. Bulma caught sight of the flowers and reached out, scooping them into her arms. "Thank you for… the other, too."

Vegeta nodded, moving to look out the window. All Bulma could see was his stern profile as he stared out the window. "I can continue to ride him, if you have no complaint," he told her. "I doubt that the doctors will okay you for riding by tomorrow."

"Oh. Um, sure," Bulma answered. "Yes. That would probably be good."

There was silence; then Vegeta ended it with a question. "How do you feel?"

"Horrible," Bulma admitted. "I… can't believe it all." Tears threatened again, but she fought them off. They were clearly upsetting Vegeta.

Vegeta stared out the window, his attention clearly an attempt to not deal with the woman in the room. "Well. You'll get better," he grunted. Stepping away from the window, he nodded. "I need to get back." His dark eyes finally met hers. "Get well."

As she nodded, he stalked to the door and yanked the chair out of the way. He opened the door, and Chichi swung at his head with a closed fist. Only years of working with biting horses with fast teeth allowed Vegeta to dodge and grab her arm. "Don't," he snarled to her. "Just because my brother is smitten with you does not mean I won't hit you back." He released her arm with a final warning squeeze and shoved past her.

"He's…" Bulma said as a slightly shaken Chichi came into her room.

"…a brute!" Chichi exclaimed, pouting and rubbing her arm.

_A match for me_, Bulma thought, frowning thoughtfully.


	13. Chapter 13

Thanks to all my reviewers. I really enjoy all your comments, and I'm glad you're enjoying the fiction.

* * *

The last day at St. Georges was anticlimactic compared to the insanity of the second day. The lack of competition added to that general sense of calm, even if it was a false calm. Vegeta was particularly nervous; his father had not called last night, and the aberration from his normal behavior made Vegeta jumpy.

Normally the last day's event calmed Vegeta; the show jumping was something that he always excelled at, and it was a nice change from the hectic nature of the cross country course. Today, he was required to wear the red hunting jacket and the round, velvet-covered black helmet with the white britches. The horses had to have their manes and tails braided; a kind of pampering for his horses that normally would have made him swell with pride at their beauty. But he couldn't enjoy it, at all.

His nerves didn't help in his morning run on Red, who was high-strung enough. It didn't help that the announcers had said introduced him as "Red Valentine of Briefs Stables, ridden by Vegeta Saiyan." The low murmur that had flown around the grandstand had made Vegeta flush from the tops of his shoulders to his high hairline. Still, the chestnut accounted well enough for himself, though Vegeta knew that it wouldn't get him into the Grande Prix.

Even better, Kakarrot's morning horse did well, too; Warland Conqueror would go to the Prix, and while Kakarrot's other horse, Silver Surety, was already qualified for the Prix, the odds were good that he'd actually place. Vegeta tried not to think about Master's chances, had he not been lamed.

With so many competitors out of the running, Saiyan Stables was sweeping the event, with nearly every horse in the top thirty, and well over half in the top twenty. Vegeta felt as through this were cheating, in a way, yet he knew that his father wouldn't care, and that was a relief in its own way. After all the other things that Vegeta and his brother had done to anger his father, their success overall would mitigate some of his anger. Or so Vegeta hoped; there was really no telling with the old dragon.

Bulma watched the television all morning, her eyes glued to the special coverage of the St. Georges Classic. When Red came onscreen, Bulma tried to watch her horse, but her eyes were on his rider. The stoic face, tight with concentration, had done such strange things to Bulma as she had watched; had turned her stomach and made the blood rush to her face. As Red came down over the last jump, his form perfect, Bulma grabbed her buzzer.

"What do you need?" Chichi asked, sitting up in her chair.

"I want to get checked out," she said in answer. Chichi frowned at her, and Bulma said, "You have a horse to ride, and I want to see the afternoon rides."

Three hours later, Chichi and Bulma were hurrying into the barn. "Get yourself ready," Bulma said, reaching for the latch on Priss' door. "I'll get her."

"Hey! Who are you?" The two women turned to see a man approaching them, a scowl on his face.

"I'm Bulma Briefs," the blue-hair woman snapped. "Who are _you_?"

"I don't know you," the guy said, "either of you. I can't let you touch that horse."

"Chichi!" Goku's call ended the conversation abruptly; as Goku rushed up to greet them, the guy moved away, walking attentively up the stable. While Chichi and Goku hugged enthusiastically, Bulma glanced around the stable, noticing the changes for the first time. There were more people around, lots more, and some hired security milling about the area. There was an aura of protection around the stables, tinged with paranoia. And someone was in Flawless' stall, a tall black horse that was clearly of Warlander get.

"I see you didn't waste any time," Bulma said coldly, waving at the stall.

Goku looked at her in confusion; Chichi frowned up at him, her eyes asking him to clarify. "I… oh! Yeah, we've moved everyone into A, B and C," he explained. "You know, because it's more secure."

"More secure?" Bulma asked pointedly.

"From the saboteur," a familiar voice rasped behind her, and Bulma turned to see Vegeta. The red jacket encasing his torso was particularly attractive with his dark coloring, Bulma noted. Her heart pounded and dropped into her stomach at the same time, and she felt the blush creep up her face.

"Oh, that's right! You guys didn't know!" Goku said, slapping his forehead. Quickly, Goku gave them a recap of what they knew.

Chichi looked shocked, but Bulma's mind didn't give her time to be shocked. She skipped straight to rage, as one thought entered her brain: _Someone killed my horse._ Vegeta gave her a silent nod when he saw her anger; his dark eyes seemed to agree with her silent promise of vengeance.

But there was no time for that now. Goku and Bulma prepared Precision Timing for her afternoon jump, and Chichi got herself ready. Vegeta was preparing one of Saiyan Stables' horses when Bulma moved to the other side of the horse, reaching for the girth of the saddle he was placing. Vegeta shot her a look that she couldn't read, but she didn't care. She had to do something, and she was working up to it. "Thank you, for all you've done," she finally said, as he finished adjusting the bridle.

"You already said that," he said, his voice and eyes distant.

"Right. In the hospital," Bulma agreed quickly, nodding. There was a moment of heavy silence before Bulma licked her lips and forced herself to say, "Would you like to do something? After the event? Something… non-horsey?"

Vegeta looked up at her, his eyes and face unreadable. "No," he said shortly. Taking the reins, he led the horse down the center aisle to its waiting rider.

Bulma struggled with the rejection for a moment. Finally, she felt herself calm down, enough, at least, that she could function. It hurt, but she'd been expecting him to say no, on some level, and it was his loss.

It still hurt.

The loudspeaker announced Priss and Chichi, and Bulma put aside her own concerns for a moment. She had to get somewhere where she could see and cheer.

Pushing through the crowds, she came to the entry gate, just in time to see Chichi nudge Priss into a slow canter, moving into the ring. Over the grandstand, a clock began to track the time. But it wasn't the clock Bulma wanted to see; it was her friend, who she couldn't see because of the crowd at the gate.

Bulma pushed her way forward until she was to the fence that blocked the back area with the stables from the arena. From there, she was rewarded with the image of Priss taking the first jump, a four and a half foot vertical perfectly. "Go, Chichi!" she shouted, refraining from turning it into a deep bellow that might get her in trouble. There was a stuffiness to this sport that Bulma found irritating, but she still loved it. Even now, knowing that Flawless was dead, she still loved it.

The sudden loss of her horse became real, and Bulma pressed her hands to her face, sobbing quietly. To never touch his soft nose, or rub his forehead, to never feel the surge in his body as he rose into the air, fearlessly launching himself over a jump – Bulma cried for all of these losses. It was unfair, brutally unfair and the whole world had to know it. Thoughts of vengeance might have come to another, but Bulma was caught in her world of grief, crying hopelessly.

Cheers and clapping rang through the arena, and Bulma looked up – she knew that sound. Chichi rode back through the gate, one fist punching the air in exaltation. Wiping away the tears that spilled down her face, Bulma pushed back through the crowd, to find her friend. "Chichi! You were… wow!" she exclaimed, grabbing her friend in a tight hug.

Priss tossed her dark head, as if in agreement, prancing in place. Chichi moved to quiet her, even as she saw Bulma's tears. "Thanks," she told her friend, knowing that no other words were sufficient. The two women hugged, again, still friends, despite their trials.

_Everyone but me_, Bulma thought again, staring around the room. Her wineglass, only the second of the evening, rested in her hand, neglected.

The after-party was always a great event. Food and drink had been flowing for three hours now, and it was clear that many of the revelers were infrequent indulgers. Of course, it may have been more embarrassing to still be on your feet with a steady gaze, a quiet implication that you were quite the booze hound. _Or, in Vegeta's case, a tee-totaller_, Bulma added silently, watching him from her peripherals.

Chichi, on the other hand, was eagerly drinking and dancing with Goku, her face red with exertion and a liquid buzz. Bulma smiled sadly to see her friend having so much fun. It was good, but there was that horrid little thought tormenting Bulma.

_Everyone but me._

Everything had been so turned on its head. Chichi had come not expecting to make it, and here she was going to the Grand Prix. So many of the riders here, celebrating their qualifications to the Show of All Shows, were here only because of another's petty evil. In fact, one of the people here was probably the cause of all her pain.

With a grimace, Bulma set down her glass and moved toward the door. She couldn't stand to be in the same room with the person responsible for Flawless' death. And even if they weren't in here, she honestly wasn't in the mood to socialize at all.

The dirt path to the stables was a ribbon of silver in the darkness, and Bulma followed it mindlessly. Checking on Red seemed better than hanging out at a party she wanted no part of, anyway. With a sigh, she glanced up from the path at her feet to the barn.

Her feet stopped. A dark form lay slumped on the ground, and Bulma forgot to breathe for a moment. With a hard swallow, she stepped forward, touching the form. It was one of Dawson's security men, and Bulma looked up at the stable.

There was someone in there, slipping into a stall.

_He killed Flawless_. The thought came unbidden to her, and Bulma snatched up the guard's steel flashlight, the heft very comfortable in her hand. Had Bulma thought, she might have stopped herself. But she wasn't thinking about anything other than the way Flawless used to whinny at her when she stepped out of her house, and the way that he had liked to roll on his back the second he was turned loose in the field. These images and more gave her the courage to creep into the barn, her blue eyes blazing with barely suppressed fury.

Unlike her last late-night excursion to the barn, she was dressed more appropriately in steel-toed work boots and jeans. She tiptoed into the barn, keeping her head down and her jaw clenched.

He was in Master's stall, trying to raise the vein in the horse's neck. His other hand held a needle and syringe, and Bulma nearly lost her mind with rage. Bad enough that they would take her horse from her, but to hurt Vegeta's further! With a silent grimace, she swung the flashlight through the air and connected with his head.

Bulma worked with animals that weighed ten times what she did, on average. She was no weakling, and she was further backed by rage. With a grunt, the assailant sank to his knees and flopped onto his side. Bulma delivered a savage kick to his back while he was down; Master snorted and danced away from them, upset by the violence in his stall. "Sorry, baby," Bulma muttered, dropping the flashlight and grabbing his ankles. Without much care regarding what she pulled him through, Bulma hauled him out of the stall and flipped him onto his back.

She didn't know him. Bulma was sure that she should; it wouldn't make sense that a complete stranger would be interested in hurting horses. She was expecting it to be a competitor-

A hand snatched her arm and spun her around; Bulma saw the barest flash of movement before a gloved fist slammed into her face. It was her turn to sprawl to the ground, but unlike the first guy, she was still conscious. It took a moment for her to recover; when the man leaned over her, she was cognizant enough to kick at him. Her boot caught him in the face, knocking him back and earning her enough space to scuttle back some.

_I'm in trouble_, Bulma realized as she scrambled away on hands and knees. A hand grabbed her ankle, and Bulma fell onto her elbows as he yanked backwards. She was making strange noises, and over her whimpers, she could hear the horses starting to panic in their stalls as they became unsettled by the noises outside their stalls.

He got a better grip on her foot and pulled her backwards again; Bulma rolled onto her back and kicked again. This time, he caught her foot and pushed it against the wall. Both of his hands were full, so Bulma did a crunch and punched him in the face. His head snapped to the side and Bulma twisted her foot, freeing it.

A familiar concerned nicker rang out nearby, and Bulma realized what stall they were in front of. Without hesitation, she took a long shot and reached up, flipping back the latch. The door slid open as she pushed it with her free foot.

The chestnut inside squealed and lurched forward; Bulma shielded her head as Red tore out of the stall, rolling his eyes and tossing his head. Her attacker lay right in his path but the terrified horse didn't pause. He ran over the man, bucking and kicking as his legs encountered the body before him. The man screamed as twelve hundred pounds of panicked horse ran him over; even after Red had dashed out into the darkness, he continued to make awful noises.

Bulma drew herself up and sat against the door, panting. She needed to go after Red, make sure he was ok, but she made herself check out this guy, too. He was also unfamiliar, and the blue-hair woman cut back a sob. Would she ever find out who had killed her beloved horse and why they had done so?

_

* * *

_


End file.
